Trance
by HelenLouise
Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder. Part forty one now up. STORY NOW COMPLETE!
1. Trance 1

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you.

TRANCE.

By

Helen Louise.

Escaping from prison had been unplanned – an accident – and almost ridiculously easy. After the 'guilty' verdict had been announced, he had spent one night in the holding cells at the courthouse and from there he was to be transferred to the State Penitentiary, where he was scheduled to spend the rest of his life.

That night, he had lain awake – not plotting any escape, but allowing his regrets to surface. Not regret for what he had done – he truly believed that the woman had deserved to die – but regret at being caught; at him, one of the finest minds in the country, being outwitted and outsmarted by Mark Sloan. He fantasised about exacting his revenge, but the fantasies were outlandish because he knew that he would never again taste freedom in order to bring them to reality.

What he didn't know was that, in the cell next to his, somebody else was having a sleepless night – but for entirely different reasons. Had he spared a glance at that man, he would have seen him filled with nervous energy, his eyes alight with anticipation. But he never spared that glance. Instead he just lay in the darkness contemplating his futile retribution.

The next morning did nothing to change his outlook on life. He wasn't the only prisoner being transferred that day and he dully shuffled out to the prison bus along with the others – all of them handcuffed and shackled; all of them walking with their heads bowed. All except the one from the cell next to his, whose demeanour was subtly different – but only to those who looked closely. He didn't carry the same air of defeat; wasn't enshrouded in a cloak of hopelessness at the grim future that lay ahead. And his eyes moved furtively, constantly, as though he were waiting for something to happen.

When it did happen, it happened in mere seconds – well planned and perfectly executed. The guards on the bus never stood a chance.

Though the breakout hadn't been for his benefit, the murderer saw the chance when it arose and seized it with both hands. An explosion sent the bus careening out of control, then tipping onto its side. Self-preservation kicking in, he hung on for dear life and, when the dust had settled, crawled towards the one man who had the connections to attempt such a daring escape – the man who had been pointed out to him as an international terrorist. The man who had been in his neighbouring cell the night before.

When the masked men burst onto the bus, spraying bullets into the already incapacitated guards, he held up his wrists in mute supplication. The terrorist with the bolt cutters freed his comrade first. Then as the retreat began – the other prisoners ignored – he snapped the cutters through the chains that bound his wrists and ankles. A moment after that, they were gone.

The silence was eerie. After the violence of the crash and the bursts of automatic gunfire, a hush had fallen over the scene. Then somebody moaned softly. He got to his feet, aware of others around him doing the same. Some didn't move, trapped where they lay, others were bleeding freely. But, aside from him, they all still wore their shackles. The majority weren't about to let such a little detail stop them. The guards, to a man, were all dead and the road they were on was deserted. Nobody would be hunting them for a long time to come. As they staggered towards the illusion of freedom – all splitting up and heading out on their own – he brushed himself off. Picking a direction at random, he began to walk – a plan already forming in his brilliant mind.

* * *

Five years might seem like a long time to some – but not to him. He could be patient when he needed to be and he needed the time to try and rebuild some kind of a life. A life that wouldn't have him constantly looking over his shoulder waiting for justice to catch up with him. 

His first step was to leave the country. That proved to be expensive but, with his new-found underground connections, relatively easy. He had planned meticulously when committing his murder – preparing for every imaginable eventuality, including the fact that he might end up on the run. He had distributed his wealth carefully and used various aliases and so getting his hands on the money had not been a problem.

He had ended up in Sweden, from where he watched closely as the manhunt got underway and the escaped prisoners – the terrorist included – were recaptured. His name got a lot of mentions after that – he was the only one still at large. But as the time dragged on, the interest waned and the papers found other things to write about.

He had changed his appearance and his name – a completely new identity had even allowed him to set up practise again – and all the while he had made the connections he needed as his plan for revenge slowly came to fruition.

Five years was enough time to let anyone forget. Of course, Mark Sloan would have been alerted when he had escaped, but his guard would have dropped after so long – and he had never directly threatened the man. It was time to put his plan into action.

His beard was gone and his hair was now blonde, but Doctor Gavin Reed – albeit now known as Peter Hendrickson – was returning to LA.

* * *

"Steve, will you calm down? I'm fine." Mark's tone was filled with fond exasperation. He knew that his son was worried, but his constant fussing was beginning to wear on his nerves. 

"Dad, you had a heart attack," Steve reminded him, tucking a blanket around the older man's knees as he settled onto the couch.

"It was just a mild attack and I've completely recovered." He leant forwards slightly as Steve began fluffing pillows. "Do you really think Jesse would have let me leave the hospital otherwise?"

"I know, dad. I just…" His hands stopped moving and he looked down at them. "You really gave me a scare, you know?"

"I know and I'm sorry." Mark felt a twinge of real guilt. His son was only reacting exactly as he did whenever he was hurt. "But really, I'm going to be just fine."

"That's right." A new voice joined the conversation as Jesse emerged from the kitchen carrying a pitcher of iced tea. "It was just Mark's body giving him a little warning; telling him to slow down a little."

"And will you?" Steve asked, with barely a trace of sarcasm.

Mark grinned at him. "Physically, I'm going to have to. I'm not getting any younger. But mentally…"

"You're going to have more time on your hands than ever," Steve finished the sentence for him. "More time to look into my cases, more time to snoop around…"

"I don't think 'snoop' is the right word…" He trailed off as two pairs of eyes regarded him appraisingly. "Well, maybe snoop a little…"

Steve poured his dad a drink and settled down next to him. It was good that things were seemingly normal – the heart attack, however mild, had given him the biggest scare of his life. And, whether his dad liked it or not, he was going to make sure that Mark followed Jesse's advice and started taking things a little easier – starting right now.

"Well, there's going to be no snooping and no investigating – not for a week at least," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "I've taken some time off."

"Steve, you don't have to…"

"No, but I want to," the younger man retorted. "I can't remember the last time I took some time off – I've got vacation time stacked up until next year. We're just going to kick back and relax and enjoy a little quality time."

Mark smiled fondly, appreciating what his son was doing. In all honesty, the attack had scared him too and the best recuperation he could have thought of was exactly what Steve had come up with.

Jesse was also smiling as he got to his feet. 'Just what the doctor ordered'had never been more appropriate – but knowing his friends' uncanny ability to find trouble in the most mundane situations, he wondered how long the vacation would last.

"Well, it's alright for you guys," he said. "But some of us have to go to work." He looked at Mark seriously. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it."

"I will. Thanks, Jesse." Mark answered, with genuine gratitude. Mild or not, he had still suffered a heart attack and Jesse had been the one to take care of him – and to ensure that he emerged from the scare unscathed.

"Yeah, thanks Jess," Steve added sincerely, accompanying him to the door. "I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"It was my pleasure." He smiled – then his gaze grew critical. His friend obviously hadn't been sleeping well. "I don't suppose there's any point telling you not to worry?"

"None." Steve answered, with a wry smile. "But I'll try."

* * *

"You cannot do, under hypnosis, what your conscience would morally and ethically stop you from doing." 

"So I've heard."

"You could not turn Mother Theresa into a murderer simply by putting her into a trance."

"Absolutely not."

"So tell me again, why are we here?"

Reed smiled thinly. In spite of his impatience and protestations, the man opposite him was hooked and he knew it. He was, after all, an expert in the human mind. He leant forwards onto the desk.

"Because you want to know how to commit the perfect murder – and I know exactly how to do it."

"But you just said…"

"No. _You _just said," Reed interrupted, with barely concealed irritation. "But you were right. Hypnosis alone wouldn't be enough to overcome those ethical and moral barriers that you mentioned. However, in my time overseas I made the acquaintance of a very… interesting and innovative scientist." The smile returned to his lips. "He has developed a drug that, along with the power of hypnosis, can crumble those barriers into dust. Individually, we have nothing – but together…" The look on his face intensified. "We can turn anybody on this planet into a killer."

A light entered the other man's eyes, but he was still determined to play it cool. "And you expect me to just take your word for this?" he asked, feigning casualness.

"Of course I don't. What, do you think I take you for a fool?"

The man's eyes narrowed – Reed's tone had suggested exactly that. "Be careful who you insult, Doctor," he snarled. "You're playing a very dangerous game here."

"On the contrary, I'm not playing games at all." The tension threatened to get out of hand, but then Reed smiled brightly. "Naturally, I do have a demonstration in mind. Tell me, have you lived in LA for very long?"

"I've spent my entire life here," the man answered, his eyes still narrowed after the previous exchange.

"Good." Reed pretended not to notice the thickening atmosphere. "Then the effectiveness of my display won't be lost on you."

"What..?"

"Keep watching the news. You'll know when it happens," Reed told him. "And then we'll talk again."

TBC…


	2. Trance 2

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: If anyone else was wondering, Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far and I'll update as often as Real Life allows!

TRANCE.

Part Two.

"What do you mean you won't use Mark Sloan as the test subject?" Reed demanded, turning incredulous eyes on his partner.

"Exactly what I said." Hero Yoshimoto refused to be intimidated by the other man's tone. They both knew what a lucrative business they were entering – and they also knew that one could not do it without the other. "He's too old."

"Age is not an issue here," Reed tried to insist. "Our tests have shown that nobody will be immune to the combination…"

"And they won't," Yoshimoto interrupted. "But this is our first full test – and everything has to be perfect. A lot of people are watching us, Doctor and I would hate for anything to go wrong."

"What could go wrong? Our research…"

"It wouldn't do for our test subject to die on us, now would it? Didn't you say he's already had a heart attack?" The scientist had his arguments all prepared. "That would hardly bring the buyers flocking to our door. I understand your desire for revenge. However, it will not interfere with this experiment."

"But I have waited five years for this!" Reed was close to breaking point. He would have committed the perfect murder had it not been for Sloan and his friends. He just loved the irony of having his nemesis do it for him instead.

"Why not make him the victim?" A new voice cut into the sudden tension that had surrounded them.

Reed turned to glower at the third man in the room. Richard Liddell was the hired help – a thug they had employed to handle some of the more unpleasant aspects of their plan. He certainly wasn't being paid to offer an opinion.

"What did you say?" The doctor asked him, coldly.

"You want Sloan to be a part of this, so why don't you use him as the victim?" Liddell shrugged nonchalantly, giving the impression that he couldn't care less whether or not his suggestion was listened to.

Then Reed's mouth turned upwards into a smile and he let out a soft chuckle. "Yes," he murmured, stroking his now clean-shaven chin. "That could be equally fitting. Mark Sloan betrayed and murdered by someone he trusts. His son, perhaps…"

Yoshimoto watched the other man through narrowed eyes. He was only in this for the money, but he knew that he had to give a little – else he might lose Reed's expertise and that was something that he desperately needed: "Tell me about the son," he conceded.

"Steve Sloan." Reed practically spat the name out. "He still lives with his father – there couldn't be a greater betrayal."

"What kind of a man is he?"

"Moralistic, high-handed. He's a detective with the LAPD."

"No." Yoshimoto scuppered the idea before it could go any further. At the glare he received to his simple denial, he elaborated: "Steve Sloan is a cop – a detective. That would mean he carries a gun; that he has killed before."

"Only ever in the line of duty." Reed again tried to force his argument home.

"But he has killed – he is capable of killing – and that would negate the entire purpose of this experiment, this demonstration." He folded his arms across his chest, refusing to be swayed. "No. We have to find the gentlest, kindest, most mild-mannered individual we can and make them commit motiveless, cold-blooded murder."

Reed closed his eyes and cast his mind back over five years – five long years since he had murdered his wife and then convinced one of his patients that she had committed the crime. It had not only been Mark Sloan and his son who had thwarted his plans. There had been others, particularly a dark young woman – another doctor, if he remembered correctly – who had been a friend to Barbara Bennings, his scapegoat, when he hadn't needed her to have any friends.

"Amanda… something…" Her full name remained elusive.

"What?" Hearing the scorn in his partner's voice, Reed opened his eyes. Yoshimoto was looking at him with open disdain. "A woman? You want to use a woman?"

Reed didn't immediately answer. He knew that Yoshimoto was Japanese in origin, but had also thought him to have adopted Western principles. But now it seemed that his beliefs were too ingrained and it was clear that he thought of females as being the weaker sex – weaker in both body and mind – and he wasn't about to stoop to using one in their experiment. And Reed knew that no argument he could think of would have the ability to sway that belief.

He bit his lip, feeling his frustration mount. He had to have his revenge – he simply had to. He had waited too long, had planned too carefully. There had to be someone else.

Liddell chose that moment to speak up again: "What about Jesse Travis?"

"Who?" Reed snapped, again turning to glare at the henchman. "What the hell do you know about Sloan and his friends?"

"A damned sight more than you, it would seem." Liddell straightened up to his full and not inconsiderable height, growing tired of the disrespectful way he was being treated. "You hired me because I'm the best in the business – that's why you pay me the big bucks. And the first rule of survival in my business is to know your enemy. Believe me Doc, I know everything there is to know about Mark Sloan."

"You've been watching him?" Reed's eyes blazed fire. "Are you insane? What if you'd have been caught?"

"I'm the best," Liddell reminded him, his own eyes flashing dangerously. "I was never in danger of getting caught. I know how to do my job. However, if you think that I take unnecessary risks…" He shrugged and turned towards the door.

"No, wait!" They couldn't afford to lose Liddell – not when they were so close to beginning their demonstration. "I'm sorry." It didn't hurt Reed to eat humble pie – it was a small price to pay for the fulfilment of his dreams. "I know you are the very best at what you do and I never should have doubted you. Now, tell me more about this guy Travis…"

* * *

Hero Yoshimoto had been close to losing his patience. He knew that 'Peter Hendrickson' was not who he pretended to be, but that did not concern him. There were incidents in his own past that he was happier for people not to know about. No, the charade did not concern him at all – but the other man's sudden fixation with Mark Sloan did.

This had never been part of their arrangement. The victim – or victims – had barely been discussed up to that point. All they had agreed on was that their killer should be a prominent individual whose sudden descent into homicide was guaranteed to make the front pages.

True, Mark Sloan did fit the bill in that respect, but there were too many other things going against him; not least of which was his age. They had one real shot at this – one chance to get noticed and have the offers come flooding in. Then they would be able to virtually name their own price to commit the perfect murder.

Hendrickson had mentioned revenge – but only ever in passing. Yoshimoto had never before realised the strength of his obsession and that had turned out to be a mistake. It was the one thing that was driving the other man – and there was no way that their plan would work without him. But he had had to stand his ground and insist on finding the right person for their demonstration. They really did only have one shot at this.

But he also had to find some way to appease his partner in crime – to keep him focussed on their plan and ensure that he gave it the attention and commitment it demanded. So, when Liddell spoke up and started listing the newest candidate's attributes, he tuned in to listen.

* * *

Unaware that his character was the subject of such intense scrutiny, Jesse jogged up the steps of the beach house. It had been a long and tiring day, but he still wanted to take the time to ensure that Mark was following his instructions to the letter and he hadn't yet stumbled across a murder that needed solving. He supposed that he could have checked up on him over the phone – but Jesse was thorough and dedicated and some things were just better being done in person.

Trying the front door, he found it to be unlocked – a sure sign that Steve was still home. If he had been called away, for any reason, he would have locked up behind him.

"Hello?" Jesse called out as he entered the house, not wanting to startle the occupants with his sudden appearance. A moment later Steve's voice floated out to him.

"Come on in, Jess."

As Jesse entered the living area, he saw Steve sprawled on the couch. Football was playing on the TV but the volume had been turned down to little more than a murmur. He glanced around the rest of the room, but there was no sign of any other occupant.

"Where's Mark?" he asked, feigning casualness and trying not to overreact to his absence.

"He went for a lie down." Steve saw the look of relief that flashed across his friend's features and smiled at the obvious concern it demonstrated. "Don't worry Jess, he's been taking things real easy."

"Oh, um… good…" He hovered where he was for a moment, uncertain of what to do now that the reason for his visit had been taken from him.

"I mean it Jesse." Steve mistook his hesitation for something else. "This has really shaken him – more than I think he's been letting on. Trust me, he's been following your instructions to the letter." He got to his feet. "Do you want to see him?"

"No, no," Jesse answered hurriedly, as Steve made a move towards the stairs. "I mean, how can I go and disturb him when I'm the one who ordered him to rest?"

* * *

Reed's eyes were narrowed and the look on his face was pensive. Liddell had certainly done his homework and seemed to know a lot about Doctor Jesse Travis. The problem was that Reed himself couldn't remember him at all.

Granted, it had been five years ago – but it had been a monumental time of his life; one that had almost resulted in him spending the rest of his life in prison. The details – even after the passage of so much time – still stood out stark and clear in his head. And if Travis really was as close to Mark Sloan as Liddell was saying – then surely he would have been there. He voiced his suspicions aloud – taking care with the wording so as not to risk offending the henchman again – but Liddell just shrugged it off.

"Five years is a long time," he answered without rancour. "I can't tell you what Travis was like then – only what he's like now. And he's more than Sloan's colleague, more than his protégé. He hero-worships the man; he's almost a part of the family. Hell, I think that Travis thinks more of Mark Sloan than he does his own father."

Reed wasn't entirely appeased. An expert in reading people, there was something about Liddell that didn't ring entirely true. For a start, the normally reticent man had suddenly found a great deal of eloquence – and he seemed awfully keen to convince Yoshimoto that Travis was perfect for the job. It almost sounded as though he were trying to sell the idea. And he was putting across one heck of a pitch.

Richard Liddell was shocked when it turned out to be Doctor Hendrickson who questioned him over the depth of his knowledge of Jesse Travis – he hadn't thought that he was the one he'd need to convince, so set was he on his plan for revenge. But he carefully masked that shock and calmly answered those questions. He had come too far to blow it now.

Yes, he knew Travis well – better than he had any intention of letting on. In fact, it was fair to say that his knowledge of the young doctor was intimate.

He hadn't earned the reputation of being the best easily – but now that he had it, it held him in good stead. He was a popular choice of 'hired help' around the LA area. And he was quite prepared to travel if the price was right. Sometimes the price didn't even come into it – so long as the incentives were there.

Liddell allowed himself a small smile at that thought. Yes, he knew Jesse Travis very well indeed – because this wasn't the first time that his services had brought him into contact with that particular doctor. His inward smile widened as he allowed his mind to drift. Hendrickson and Yoshimoto were in conversation and he was temporarily surplus to requirements.

He hadn't told them everything that he knew – hadn't told them about the time that Travis had been kept prisoner, drugged and brainwashed and made to believe that he had been abducted by aliens. That might have turned them away from the idea of using him for their experiment. And he wasn't about to let that happen.

He was looking forward to making Jesse Travis's acquaintance again – even though the man had never seen his face and there was no danger of him being recognised or identified – because, the last time they had met, Liddell had enjoyed his 'work' so much that he'd even paid his own return fare from Utah.

TBC…


	3. Trance 3

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: If anyone else was wondering, Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Three.

Driving from the hotel where he had met with the doctor and the scientist, Liddell allowed his inner smile to surface. It was, he realised, the mother of all coincidences. When 'Hendrickson' – he knew that to be an alias, but it didn't overly concern him – had first approached him, he had only mentioned the name of Mark Sloan and it had taken some pressing to get that much out of him. The fact that Yoshimoto wasn't aware of his partner's plans for revenge easily explained that away. But Liddell had been insistent – refusing to take the job without knowing at least something of what he was getting into – and his employer had eventually backed down.

Now the henchman was glad that he'd stuck to his guns, because his background check of Sloan had led him straight to Jesse Travis. He had hardly dared to believe that it could be the same Jesse Travis that he had worked with so closely once before, but one glimpse of the blonde man was enough to confirm that it was.

Then he'd had the task of getting the young doctor involved in the plot and Yoshimoto's steadfast refusal to use Mark Sloan had presented the perfect opportunity. He thought that he'd blown it when Hendrickson had started asking questions – but they were all eager to get the experiment underway and it was unanimously decided that Travis would be their 'weapon'.

Liddell chuckled to himself, already planning his next move. He was looking forward to seeing the fear and pain in those blue eyes again – even if it wasn't physical pain that they were inflicting. _Well, not too much, _he silently mused. _But, with a kidnapping anything might happen – especially if he tries to resist…_

His good mood growing by the minute, Liddell drove towards Travis's apartment complex. The words "we'll move tonight" had never been greeted with greater joy.

The smile was still on his face a short time later, as he sat in his car outside Travis's apartment complex, listening to the ringing on the other end of his cellphone. He let it ring well over a dozen times before disconnecting – ensuring that there was no-one home. Luck was most definitely on his side that night. His target had yet to return and that fit in with his plans perfectly. It was so much easier to snatch someone off the street than to try and grab them out of their home. And the evening was drawing in. Full dark would soon be upon them. That would only add to the ease of his task: less potential witnesses.

Settling back for the wait that lay ahead, Liddell thought about the instructions that he had been given – the very specific instructions. He was not allowed to use any drugs – not even chloroform – nothing that might react with or alter the effects of Yoshimoto's compound. Nor was he to inflict any wounds or blows to his victim's head. A concussion would make the hypnosis part of the plan more difficult and uncertain. He had also been ordered not to leave any obvious bruises or marks that could not easily be brushed off or explained away. They didn't want people asking awkward questions – and they knew how curious and persistent both Mark Sloan and his son could be.

Liddell hadn't complained at any one of these restrictions that had been placed on his methods. He was a professional and he was good at what he did. The orders would make the kidnapping more of a challenge – and if there was one thing that the henchman enjoyed then it was a challenge.

* * *

Mark awoke just as pizza arrived at the beach house. Steve had insisted on Jesse staying for something to eat – and, at the dubious look that had appeared on his friend's face at the prospect of his cooking, had laughingly assured him that they'd be getting takeout. Jesse hadn't needed any more convincing after that. He hadn't even argued over Steve's choice of toppings.

Then Mark had appeared at the bottom of the stairs – commenting appreciatively on the tantalising smell that drifted from the box in Steve's hands.

"Mark, how are you feeling?" Jesse hurried over to him, his eyes giving the older man a rapid examination. What he saw was reassuring. Some colour had definitely returned to his mentor's cheeks and he looked almost like his old self.

"Much better, Jesse. Thank you," Mark replied, graciously succumbing to a more thorough examination the moment he was seated on the couch.

"Well, I'm impressed. You've been out of hospital for almost an entire day and haven't managed to find any trouble – or mysteries to solve." The grin on his face took the sting out of Jesse's words.

"And it's going to stay that way," Steve put in, in a mock-stern tone. "Nothing more strenuous than a gentle walk on the beach – for the next week at least."

Mark didn't even try to argue. He appreciated the concern that the two younger men were showing for him – and his own memory of the attack still had the ability to leave him more than a little shaky. He could only be thankful that he had been at the hospital at the time – and that Jesse had been on hand to recognise the warning signs and act on them immediately. Otherwise, his heart attack might have ended up not being classed as 'minor' at all.

They ate the pizza in companionable silence until Jesse announced that he had to go. The Sloans both warned him to drive carefully and he, in return, reiterated the instructions that he had given them on Mark's release from hospital. After their final goodbyes, the young doctor drove off into the night.

He hadn't needed the warnings with regard to his driving – exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him. But the sun had set and the roads were fairly quiet. He was able to make it back to his apartment without mishap.

Getting out of the Mustang, Jesse bent down to lock the door. Then, as he straightened up, his airway was suddenly and brutally cut off as a brawny arm snaked around his throat. A strong hand clasped over his mouth, preventing him from crying out. Moments later, he could feel warm breath against his cheek and an unfamiliar voice growled at him: "Hello, Jesse. Remember me?"

* * *

Liddell grinned as the body he held stiffened in fear. He kept his lips very close to the young man's face as he continued to terrorise him – wishing that he could see his face, see his fear, but knowing that there would be time enough for that later.

"Here's the deal, Jesse," he muttered – his voice low and threatening. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth. If you make a sound – any sound at all – then I'll hurt you. Worse, if you alert anyone and they try to help you then I'll kill them. Do you understand?"

He felt the minute nod that was all his brutal grip would allow and relaxed the pressure on the doctor's throat a fraction. Then he carefully released his mouth. Travis had obviously taken his threat seriously and held his silence. A quick look around showed Liddell that they were alone on the street, but he knew that was a state of affairs that could soon change. He had to move quickly.

Keeping a firm hold on his captive, he dragged him into the shadows of the apartment building, so that no passing motorist would see them. The street was still deserted and, using brute strength, he muscled Jesse to the ground and forced him to lie on his stomach. A firm knee planted in the small of his back kept the young man immobile as Liddell reached into his pocket and removed a roll of heavy duty duct tape.

Working with a smile of satisfaction on his face, he quickly and professionally bound Jesse's hands with the tape and then rolled him over onto his back. His smile turned into a grin as he looked down into wide and terrified blue eyes.

"Just like old times, hey Jesse?" he whispered – but no hint of recognition dawned in his prisoner.

"Who..?" Jesse's voice was barely audible – his mouth was dry with fear. But speaking at all proved to be a mistake as a large hand swooped down and closed back around his throat.

"Didn't I say no talking?" Liddell planted his knee on the bound man's chest – utilising far more pressure than was necessary – and used his teeth to tear off another piece of tape. His grin widened as he secured the tape over Jesse's mouth. "That's better."

A quick glance out into the street showed Liddell that they still had the area to themselves and he silently thanked providence that his victim lived in such a quiet neighbourhood. Taking the doctor's arm in a firm grip, he hauled him to his feet. "Now we get to go for a little ride," he murmured.

Waiting around outside the apartment complex had given Liddell plenty of time to perfect his plan. He had parked his car right by the spot where he'd grabbed his prey. There were no streetlights nearby and his dark sedan had been virtually invisible. He dragged his victim towards it and chuckled to himself as he felt the first hint of resistance from the doctor. It was far, far too late for that.

He had deliberately kept the trunk open – to save time – but it was when he tried to lead Jesse towards it that the young man baulked. Allowing a malicious grin to surface, he looked deeply into his captive's eyes.

"Get in," he hissed.

Jesse, his eyes wide and fearful, shook his head minutely and tried to back away. Liddell tightened the grip on his arm.

"Either you get in," he threatened – his voice filled with menace. "Or I'll throw you in. It's up to you."

He had no qualms about letting Travis see his face – he knew that identification was not going to be a problem. He glared at him, knowing that his eyes would betray how much he was enjoying it – and not giving a damn. He looked pointedly into the gaping trunk of the sedan and then smirked as the bound and gagged man's eyes darted wildly around the street. He allowed his own eyes to leisurely scan the area. It was still deserted. Then he gave a half-hearted little shrug and scooped his captive up in his arms. A muffled exclamation escaped from behind the gag, but then it was abruptly cut off as he dumped him unceremoniously into the trunk and slammed the door shut.

After taking one final look around to ensure that they had been unobserved, Liddell climbed into his hire car and drove away – taking good care to adhere to the speed limits.

* * *

Trapped in pitch darkness, Jesse fought hard not to hyperventilate. The gag across his mouth and the fumes that assailed him made breathing difficult enough as it was. Barely repressed panic threatened to make that difficulty impossible.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought back tears of terror and utter helplessness. It helped, he instantly noticed. Somehow, not being able to see the darkness made it less threatening. He took as deep a breath as he could and then let it out slowly. He wasn't particularly hurt, but he was afraid – and he was more than a little confused.

The man who had taken him had obviously known him – had, in fact, called him by name. This was not a case of mistaken identity. The trouble was that Jesse hadn't recognised him at all. There hadn't even been a hint of anything vaguely familiar about him, to make him wonder if maybe he was missing something. No, he didn't know his captor – he was certain of it – and that filled him with a new kind of fear.

Who would know him, without him knowing them? More importantly, why would they abduct him? It could be connected to one of Steve's cases, he reasoned – trying to distract himself from the nausea that threatened, caused by the motion of the car and the fumes that shared the trunk with him. Or it could be something to do with his dad. Either way, Jesse knew that he was in trouble. He had no-one waiting for him at home, no-one to raise the alarm when he failed to turn up. In short, no-one was going to miss him for a good number of hours.

Fresh panic welled in his chest at that thought and he almost choked as he forgot to breathe through his nose and retched against the gag over his mouth. With an effort, he managed to calm himself down – only for his heart almost to stop when he felt the car draw to a halt.

Moments later there was a noise. The trunk opened and the cold night air rushed in to replace the tainted air that he had been breathing. But he hardly had time to enjoy this luxury when harsh bright light – shone directly into his eyes – had him flinching back into his prison.

* * *

Liddell stared down at his captive, deliberately shining his powerful flashlight directly into his eyes. Travis was, he noted with satisfaction, literally shaking with fear. He reached down with his free hand and carefully traced the dried tear tracks on the bound man's cheeks, relentlessly following when he tried to shrink away. He paused for a moment, revelling in the feeling of complete and utter power that this gave him.

"First you didn't wanna get in, now you don't wanna get out," he sneered.

Suddenly he grabbed a handful of his victim's hair and jerked hard. Jesse had no choice put to go with the movement – else his hair would have been ripped out by the roots. Agony replaced the terror in his eyes and Liddell felt a sudden surge of adrenalin. He pulled harder, dragging the other man upwards and outwards, sparing no thought for the fact that he was bound and could do nothing to help himself. He hauled his victim from the trunk and allowed him to collapse onto his knees on the ground.

Switching off the now redundant flashlight, he flung it into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. Grasping hold of his captive's bicep, he hauled him to his feet.

"See," he murmured. "It's a whole lot easier when you cooperate." Then he smirked as Jesse's legs, having been cramped in one position for so long, refused to carry him and he stumbled heavily. "Of course," Liddell smirked – once again grabbing a handful of blonde hair. "It's much more fun when you don't."

TBC…


	4. Trance 4

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Sorry for the delay in updating – I can only blame work, I'm afraid! Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Four.

Jesse tried valiantly to get his legs under him as he was ruthlessly dragged along by the agonising grip on his hair. Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks, blinding him as effectively as the darkness had before. He couldn't even begin to try and make out his surroundings – but he was horribly aware of the silence that enshrouded them. He could hear his captor breathing, could hear his own laboured attempts to draw breath – but there was nothing else; nothing to indicate that there was anyone else close by.

He managed to get one foot underneath him and then the other – and was rewarded with a slight lessening of the pain. He fully expected for the brutal grip to be released – after all, hadn't his captor said something about cooperating? But that didn't happen. The big man didn't even alter his pace and so Jesse was forced to continue his stumbling progress bent half over and still, effectively, being dragged. He couldn't even put up a fight – could only allow himself to be led.

His thoughts were still a jumbled blur. He still hadn't figured out who this man was, or why he had been taken. The only thing he did know, with crystal clarity, was that the man was enjoying his pain, was feeding off his fear. And he had known that from the moment he had first looked up into his merciless eyes.

The man was a psychopath and a sadist. The thought set Jesse trembling again. Was he destined to die that night? Was he going to be tortured and murdered by some conscienceless serial killer – just so he could get his kicks? Would his friends ever know what had become of him? Was his death really going to be so meaningless?

Panic followed swiftly on the heels of those thoughts and his trembling became uncontrollable. His legs suddenly refused to carry him another step and he pitched forwards. The motion must have startled his captor, because Jesse was allowed to fall and a muffled cry escaped him when he connected with the ground.

But even this illusion of freedom was painfully brief as a rough hand grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him upright.

"Will you get a move on?" his captor snarled, giving him another jerk for emphasis. "There's somebody here who's very eager to meet you."

A door opened and carpeting replaced the concrete that he had been stumbling along. Moments later, Jesse was flung brutally to the ground. He heard a startled voice exclaim: "What the hell..?" and dared himself to hope – for the briefest second – that he might have an ally in this room.

Then his kidnapper spoke: "No drugs, no head injury and no concussion." He sounded almost proud of himself.

Jesse's hopes were swiftly dashed when he heard a soft, malicious chuckle and the voice that had sounded alarmed spoke again: "I like your style."

"Get him up here," a new voice said – this one was cold and dispassionate and sent a fresh shiver running down Jesse's spine. "Let's get this started."

Again, Jesse was grabbed and again he was powerless to do anything about it. As he was hauled to his feet, he got his first look at the other two men. Both were older than his abductor and one, a distinguished looking tall blonde man, looked vaguely familiar to him. But it was not towards him that he was pushed.

Jesse didn't even have time to try and figure out that familiarity as his eyes alighted on the second man – shorter and plumper and unmistakably Oriental. But what held him transfixed was the hypodermic needle in his hand.

As the man tapped the side of the syringe and then gave the plunger an experimental squeeze to ensure there was no air trapped in it, Jesse shook his head. But that was the only resistance that he could offer as he was given another shove forwards.

"Well, Doctor Travis, I'd like to tell you that this won't hurt a bit," the Oriental man said. "Unfortunately, our research has shown that it does."

There was a desk in front of him and Jesse was forced face down onto it. Rough hands pushed the sleeve of his jacket and shirt upwards, exposing his arm. Then he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sudden sharp stab of the needle.

It felt as though liquid fire was running through his veins. All he knew was the agony that seemed to encompass every part of him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but still the tears flowed down his cheeks and he struggled to breathe through the gag, all the while wondering why he bothered when all he knew was pain.

Time ceased to have any meaning for him as he fought ineffectually against his bonds, thrashing weakly against the hands that still held him as he sought to escape the inescapable.

He felt the gag ripped cruelly from his mouth and snatched a breath, opening his mouth to scream – but all that emerged was a strangled moan.

After what felt like an eternity, when all that was left were his silent prayers for it to stop – please stop – the agony receded. His breathing slowed but his heart was still racing at what felt like twice its normal speed. But the agony was definitely abating until all that was left was an aching in his wrists where he'd struggled and a fierce pounding in his head.

He was completely sapped of all strength and couldn't resist – couldn't put up even a token protest when he was manhandled across the room and forced down onto a hard-backed chair. Through eyes that still watered, he looked up – dreading what they had in store for him next and wondering how much more he could take.

The blonde man – the one he thought he had recognised – glared down at him and then settled into a chair opposite him and looked deeply into his eyes.

* * *

Liddell watched the proceedings with undisguised amusement on his face. Their captive was sitting slumped in his chair with his eyes half closed and a blank expression on his face. There had been no hint of resistance when 'Hendrickson' had started working on him – thanks to the drug, he presumed.

That had been an entertaining episode. He had kept Travis subdued merely by planting one large hand on his shoulders and pinning him to the desk as he writhed and struggled against his obvious agony. Then Yoshimoto had curtly ordered him to remove the gag before their guinea pig suffocated. Smiling, Liddell had complied, ripping the tape from the bound man's mouth and seeing fresh pain flash across his features. Then he had continued to watch as the struggles ceased and the young man was left trembling and sweating and gasping for breath. He had been compliant ever since.

Liddell had felt a brief flash of disappointment when the fear and pain had faded from the captive's eyes, but that was quickly replaced by fascination as he watched the hypnotism progress. It opened up whole new realms in his twisted mind. Travis was completely under, absorbing everything that he was told and he would, Liddell knew, do whatever he was instructed. He shifted slightly on the desk on which he perched and idly wondered if it was only Hendrickson's voice that he would respond to.

The doctor was telling his subject that he would remember nothing of the night's events – that he would return home and go to sleep and awaken in the morning believing that he had spent the entire night in his bed. Liddell chuckled to himself as he mentally explored the possibility of selective memories. Let him remember the pain; let him remember the terror – a terror so deep that it could not stem from any nightmare. Then watch him slowly lose his mind as he wondered where these feelings came from. Then bring him back and hurt him some more and only ever let him remember the pain.

Suddenly, Liddell felt eyes on him and he glanced up to see Hendrickson staring at him with the strangest expression on his face. Realising that he had laughed out loud, he gave a small shrug.

"Just considering the possibilities, Doc," he said, with a smile. "Just considering the possibilities… Say, is there nothing that you can't make him do? Nothing at all?"

"Not with the aid of Mr Yoshimoto's drug," Hendrickson replied. "There are no limits, nothing that the conscience or the subconscious would prevent. Why? Did you have something in mind?"

"Just wondering what's gonna happen afterwards."

"Afterwards?"

"Yeah. You make him kill for you. Then what happens to him?"

"Who cares?" Hendrickson countered. "This is just a demonstration; a chance to show the world that we mean business and that we can do what we claimed."

"Well, you see – I think you're missing out on an angle here," Liddell drawled, warming to the thoughts that had previously occupied his mind. "Cos you see, in truth you've got two victims here. You've got the dead guy and the murderer. Now, you could tell him to shoot Sloan and then turn the gun on himself. Or you could tell him to go to the police and make a full confession. Or to leave enough clues to make sure that he's caught. Think about it. Your clients might get more of a kick seeing their enemy spend a lifetime in prison – reviled and discredited – than see them dead." His eyes shining, he leant forwards. "Imagine, for the right price you could have your most hated enemy serving time as a child molester or something. Now that's what I call revenge."

"Mr Liddell, you really are one sick and twisted individual," Hendrickson said, but there was unmistakable admiration in his voice. "You are also a genius. The possibilities are endless."

"We need to prove that it works first," Yoshimoto cut in. "Everything hinges on the success of this demonstration – and we are wasting time."

Liddell glanced back towards their captive and noticed that his eyes were closed and his chin was resting on his chest. He guessed that the hypnosis was over.

"So is that it?" he asked. "When he wakes up, is he gonna be the perfect killing machine?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Mr Liddell," Hendrickson answered, his own eyes resting on their test subject. "No, we'll need Doctor Travis returned to us tomorrow night and, quite probably, the night after that as well."

* * *

Liddell didn't bother to terrorise Jesse when he was instructed to return their captive to his apartment. There would have been no fun in it, as the young man was still held in thrall – his eyes open, but docilely doing everything he was instructed. Liddell had cut the tape from his wrists, noticing that the skin was reddened following his struggle, but the damage was not enough to rouse any suspicion and would probably fade by the morning. And, instead of being forced into the trunk, he sat obediently in the front seat of Liddell's car, but that didn't mean that the thug had no entertainment during the drive.

He was thinking about hypnotism – about the absolute control that was wielded over the victim. And he was wondering how it would feel to exercise such control. There was no limit to the fun that could be had with someone over whom you could wield such complete power. A sadist at heart, his imagination ran riot as he thought of what that fun would entail. You could humiliate and hurt them in so many ways.

Liddell had even tried to see if Jesse was still under the influence enough to respond to his voice. He even tried faking Hendrickson's accent, but nothing that he said elicited any response from the younger man. He probably wouldn't react to anything at all until he had slept and then awoken – as he had been instructed.

But even that didn't wipe the smile from Liddell's face. He had a very fertile imagination and was sure that there was plenty more fun to be had with this victim before the night was over. With a sidelong glance at Jesse, he idly wondered whether Hendrickson had ever abused his abilities in such a way. He carried the title of Doctor, so that suggested that he would have had patients. He had also changed his identity somewhere along the way.

That would suggest previous misdemeanours – and it didn't take a genius to figure out just what he might have done when his patients, particularly the female ones, were yielding and compliant.

Liddell curled his lip in disgust. Some people had no moral values at all. He might be a lot of things – might take pleasure from a little torture – but he would never stoop to rape.

They arrived back at Jesse's apartment block and Liddell drew the car to a halt. Getting out, he moved to the passenger side and pulled the younger man out onto the sidewalk. Then, keeping a firm grip on his arm, he walked him up the stairs and guided him into his apartment.

TBC…


	5. Trance 5

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated". _Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Five.

When his alarm went off at six o'clock the next morning, Jesse awoke feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. His exhaustion from the night before still tried to drag him back down into sleep and he ached all over. But, tempted though he was, his commitment to his chosen profession overweighed how lousy he was feeling. He was due on shift at eight and there was no way that he wasn't going to be there.

Dragging his weary body from his bed, Jesse went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Shucking off his shorts – for some reason he hadn't changed into the sweats that were his habitual nightwear, he must have been too wiped – he stepped under the spray.

All trace of exhaustion was instantly forgotten as the ice cold water struck his skin, forcing a yelp of utter shock from him. The timer on his heater was always set so that the water would be piping hot when he got up – but today that was not the case. Stumbling in his attempt to escape from the deluge, he slipped on the damp tiles and grabbed at the sink to stop himself from falling completely. Sharp pain shot through his wrist as it twisted awkwardly and brought tears to his eyes.

He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him – already beginning to shiver – and then reached out to turn the water off. He couldn't face the prospect of an ice cold shower – maybe he'd have time to catch one at the hospital. Shaving was a different matter and that turned out to be a thoroughly unpleasant experience.

Having cleaned his teeth, Jesse trudged back into the bedroom to dress. That was not the start to the day he had been hoping for. Things rapidly got worse. First off, he couldn't find a matching pair of clean socks. He knew that he needed to do laundry – work and taking care of Mark had taken up a lot of his time – but he hadn't realised that things had got that bad. But obviously they had. In the end, he had to settle for wearing one black sock and one grey. He only hoped that nobody would notice.

Then, as he put on his shoes, a cry was forced from him for the second time that morning. Sharp pain raced through his heel and, gingerly removing his foot, he picked up the shoe. There was a piece of broken glass in it. Jesse frowned as he carefully removed it and held it up to the light to study it. He couldn't remember breaking anything and a quick glance around his apartment gave him no clue as to where it might have come from.

Maybe, he surmised, it had got caught in his clothing and then dropped into his shoe when he undressed. He couldn't think of any other explanation and so, dropping the offending object into the trash, he took a quick look at his throbbing foot. There was a tear to the sock and a shallow cut on his heel. It was nothing to worry about, but it was in a damned uncomfortable spot. He limped back into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, looking for a plaster.

The cabinet was well stocked. He always kept it that way, but he couldn't find a Band Aid anywhere. He was certain that he had some, certain that he would have restocked before he'd even used the last one. But there weren't any and a quick look through his doctor's bag revealed the same thing. There were bandages and gauzes – but that would have been overkill for such a minor wound. Quickly checking his shoes for any further surprises and finding none, he put them back on, wondering if his day could possibly get any worse.

He quickly learnt the answer to that question when, on going to leave the apartment, he couldn't find his car keys anywhere. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, he was forced to give up. He was already in danger of running late and, if he didn't leave soon, that danger would become a certainty. With a weary sigh and cursing his thoroughly bad luck, Jesse phoned for a taxi.

He groaned inwardly as he realised that the delay had put paid to his plans to call by the beach house on his way in to work. And, without his car, he wouldn't be able to make a detour on his way home either. He knew that he could call from the hospital, but that seemed too impersonal. He didn't want his old friend to think that he didn't care about him any more.

Then a car horn sounded outside, signalling the arrival of his cab and he was forced to put his thoughts of Mark on hold as he headed into work.

* * *

A little way down the street – and from the safety of his car – Liddell smiled to himself as he watched the weary, dishevelled form limp out of the building and into a waiting taxi.

It was all about mind games. Move a few things, hide a few things, switch off the hot water… Liddell grinned as he thought about that particular stunt, wishing that he'd been able to witness the effects of his handiwork, but the hypnosis would have passed by the morning and he couldn't afford to give himself away.

His employers didn't know of the new twist he had put on their plan – and he strongly suspected that they would not approve – but he couldn't help himself. The temptation was too great. He needed to have his entertainment – and he had been specifically forbidden from physically hurting their victim. Unlike Utah where, whilst it too had centred on mind games, he had been encouraged to bruise and to mark.

He had enjoyed Utah and it had also taught him that there was more to torture than the mere inflicting of pain. So, so much more.

And, now that he was being denied his pleasure with his latest victim, he had seized the opportunity to try out some of those more subtle techniques. He thought about how it would affect Travis: paranoia would start to creep in; then he would begin to question his own sanity. His friends might even suspect him of drug abuse.

The final icing on the cake would be when he murdered his mentor. Liddell privately hoped that Hendrickson would not instruct Travis to take his own life as well. To have to live with the consequences of his actions, to face the eternal torment of constantly wondering _why? _That would be the greatest torture of all.

* * *

"Jesse? Jesse, are you alright?"

The concerned voice broke through the exhaustion that continued to weigh him down and he forced his eyes open, looking up from his slumped position on the doctors' lounge couch. Amanda Bentley was frowning down at him and he wondered how long she'd been standing there, calling his name.

"Um, yeah…" He summoned a weary smile for her, but it did not ease the worry that was so evident in her eyes. "I'm just tired…" Now there was one hell of an understatement. He didn't think a word existed that could describe exactly how wiped he felt. Tired didn't even come close.

"Let me guess," Amanda said, crossing the room to pour them both a coffee. "You spent half the night at the beach house, keeping an eye on Mark – and were back at the crack of dawn to make sure that he was still okay?"

"I um… I never made it to the beach house this morning." He felt suddenly guilty about that. Running late, he still had not found the time to call. He had intended to on his break – after he had rested, just for a moment. "I uh… I couldn't find my car keys…"

Amanda turned slowly, a strange expression on her face. "But Jesse, if you left your car here last night, how did you get to Mark's?"

"No, this morning." Jesse rubbed a weary hand across his face, wondering why everything always had to be so complicated. "I couldn't find my keys this morning."

"But your car's in the lot, Jesse," she replied, sounding as perplexed as he felt. "I saw it when I came in. That's why I was looking for you – to ask about Mark."

"No…" Jesse looked up at her in utter disbelief. "No, you're wrong. It can't have been my car."

"Jesse, you think I don't know your car by now?" Amanda might have found the conversation amusing – if it hadn't been for the look of utter bewilderment on her friend's face. "It's even parked in your regular spot."

Jesse opened his mouth to answer, but no sound emerged. How could he explain the impossible? He had gotten a taxi into work that morning – he clearly remembered it, because it hadn't been one of the more fun experiences in his life.

The cab driver had been a strange individual. When told that their destination was Community General Hospital he had, quite excitedly, asked if it was an emergency. Could he "put his foot down and have an excuse for the cops"? Subsequently, he had been disappointed to learn that his fare was a doctor and had spent the remainder of the journey bemoaning the fact that nothing exciting ever happened to him.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, nursing the beginnings of a headache. He couldn't have dreamt that – he just couldn't.

"No, I'll show you…" Jesse pushed himself to his feet. "I'll prove it to you."

"Jesse…" Amanda wanted to tell him that he didn't have to prove anything. She was getting more worried about his increasingly strange behaviour – and the fact that he was looking decidedly unwell. But she was left speaking to thin air as her friend abruptly left the lounge. Shaking her head in utter confusion, she followed him.

Unsurprisingly, he headed straight to the elevator and, as Amanda got in alongside him, he pushed the button that would take them to the underground parking lot. As they began their slow descent, Amanda tried again to convince him that there really was no need – but Jesse's face was etched in grim determination.

On reaching their destination, he surged from the elevator the moment the doors slid open – leaving Amanda, again, trailing in his wake.

She caught up with him when he suddenly stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on what she had known he would see. His Mustang, sleek and beautiful and unmistakable, gleamed in the muted lights of the underground lot.

"Jesse…" She spoke his name softly, not knowing what was going on, but knowing that something definitely wasn't right.

"No…" he whispered, almost to himself. "It's not possible…"

Turning on his heel, the young doctor headed back to the elevator almost at a run. Amanda had to break into a sprint to reach the doors before they cut her off from him.

"Honey, where are you going?"

"I don't… I don't understand, Amanda." Jesse finally raised his eyes to look at her and she flinched at the helplessness that shone from them. "I can't have imagined it. I can't…"

"Imagined what, sweetie?" she asked, gently.

Jesse shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He could still hear the droning voice of the cab driver as he bemoaned his lot in life. He knew that he had a fertile imagination, but it wasn't that fertile – and he certainly wasn't prone to hallucinating. The deciding factor was that, if he had indeed driven to work, then nothing would have kept him from going to the beach house and checking up on Mark.

That thought led him straight to the realisation that he still hadn't so much as called to see how his mentor was doing. He knew that, if there had been any problems, that Steve would have contacted him – but he still didn't want his old friend to think that, once he was out of hospital, then Jesse's duty had been done. He wanted to be there every step of the way during his recovery; to ensure that Mark wasn't overdoing it and that Steve was keeping his promise and making him rest. And he had let them both down on the very first day.

He was aware of Amanda talking to him again, but found that he couldn't concentrate on the words. He could hear nothing past the worry in her tone. He opened his eyes and forced a smile for her.

"I'm okay," he said and his words coincided with the elevator arriving at their floor. Pushing himself away from the wall he had been slumped against, he stepped out into the hospital. "I just need to make a call."

The phone at the beach house went unanswered. Chewing worriedly at his lower lip, Jesse let it ring and ring – well into double figures – before reluctantly reaching the conclusion that there was no-one home. He knew that that in itself was not a reason to panic, but he couldn't prevent the worry that churned in his gut.

He tried to listen to the logical voice in his head that told him there could have been any number of reasons for the lack of a response. It was a beautiful day, far too nice to be stuck indoors and he had prescribed Mark some gentle exercise as part of his recovery programme. Perhaps they had gone for a walk on the beach, or out for a drive.

And he trusted Steve enough to know that he would never do anything to endanger his father's health. That's what the voice of logic kept telling him, but he was having a hard time believing it. It hadn't been a very logical day.

Giving up on the beach house, he instead began to dial Steve's cellphone number. He just wanted to hear for himself that everything was alright. But, again, fate conspired against him and, before he could even complete the connection, he heard his name being paged to the ER.

TBC…


	6. Trance 6

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_ and _"Misdiagnosis Murder"._ Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far. Merry Christmas to everyone.

TRANCE.

Part Six.

Amanda sat in her path lab staring at the file that lay open in front of her, without actually seeing what it contained. Her thoughts were still firmly fixed on Jesse and the strange behaviour he had exhibited.

She wondered if she should merely chalk it off to exhaustion – her young friend obviously hadn't been getting enough sleep. Then she remembered the last time that they had tried to do that – when Jesse, having worked impossibly long hours, was convinced that he'd seen a dead body in the trunk of a car. The body subsequently disappeared and Mark was forced to resort to drugging Jesse, because it was the only way they could get him to sleep. When the body had turned up again, first in a hospital bed and then in the morgue, Jesse had come up with a wild conspiracy theory revolving around drug trafficking. But, at the end of the day, he had been right about the body. He hadn't imagined it and his lack of sleep hadn't brought about any hallucinations – he really had seen what he'd claimed to have seen.

The second occasion they had been seriously worried about his mental state had been even more disturbing. Kidnapped and missing for five long and terrifying days, Jesse had returned paranoid and mistrustful. But then he had been brainwashed, tortured and drugged – and the water supply in his apartment was doctored, so that he continued being doped even on his return.

Amanda shuddered inwardly as she remembered how she had actually considered that Jesse might have willingly turned to drugs in order to manage his hectic schedule. Even to this day, she still felt guilty that she had ever entertained such a ridiculous notion.

But what was worrying her more than anything else was the fact that she could see no connection between either of those two episodes and what she had witnessed that morning. Yes, Jesse had been working hard. With Mark being sick, his workload had obviously increased – and he was spending much of his spare time tending to his mentor, above and beyond the call of duty – but he wasn't putting in ridiculously long hours and he was making it home each night in order to get some sleep. And he certainly hadn't been kidnapped and brainwashed again.

Amanda sighed heavily as she considered her very limited options. She could just ignore the entire incident – put it down to stress and overworking and worry. But she was loath to do that. Jesse's intense behaviour had bordered on frightening. Alternatively, she could have it out with her young friend; ask him exactly what was going on and how he could possibly think that he'd lost his car keys when the Mustang was there for all to see. That didn't seem a particularly viable option, either. She had already tried talking to Jesse in the elevator, with remarkably unsuccessful results.

And that was where she ran out of ideas. On any other occasion, she would have sought out help – or at least advice. She would have turned to their mutual friends – the other two members of their extended family – and asked if they had noticed anything untoward. Then the three of them – she, Mark and Steve – would have found some way to get to the bottom of the mystery. But she wasn't about to burden Mark with her unfounded fears during his recuperation. And, if she mentioned it to Steve, then it would only be a matter of time before something was let slip to his father. She wasn't prepared to risk that happening – wasn't about to take even the remotest chance of Mark suffering a relapse.

Resigned to the fact that this was her problem and hers alone – and that she could do little more than keep an eye on Jesse and be there should he need someone to turn to – Amanda shook her head and focussed her attention back on the work she was supposed to be doing.

* * *

Later that day, Jesse slumped into a chair in the doctors' lounge and put his head in his hands. He should have known, from the moment that he had awoken that morning, that the entire day was going to conspire against him. There had been no major incidents, no serious emergencies and no disasters – natural or otherwise. And yet Jesse felt as though he had barely had the time to draw breath throughout his entire shift. The endless stream of minor casualties had kept him on the go almost non-stop.

Now the clock on the wall told him that it was six pm. His shift was over and he still hadn't been able to talk to either Mark or Steve.

After another quick glance at the clock, Jesse discounted the possibility of picking up the phone and calling them there and then. Knowing his luck, they would just be sitting down to dinner – and he was loath to disturb them, not when he was planning on heading over to the beach house anyway. He would just turn up unannounced, as he so often did, and the lingering guilt that he still felt for his neglect would be forgotten.

His train of thought inevitably led him back to the mystery of his car. How had it got to be at Community General? Had somebody played a practical joke on him, or was he really on the verge of losing his mind? Swiftly deciding that there was only one way to find out, Jesse got to his feet and headed towards his locker.

As he approached it – and seeing that it was firmly locked – Jesse felt a tremor of apprehension in his stomach. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly afraid to open that door. Biting his lip against the inexplicable fear, he put the key in the padlock and swung the door open – eyes half closed in anticipation of whatever horrors might be lying in its depths.

Then he felt a blush colour his cheeks and was suddenly glad that there had been no-one else present to witness his paranoia. The only thing waiting in his locker was his jacket. And, as he retrieved it, he could feel the familiar weight of his keys in the pocket.

* * *

Liddell was an expert at the waiting game. In his line of work he had to be. As he loitered in the shadows of the hospital parking lot, he entertained himself with thoughts of what still lay in store for Jesse Travis – as well as those things that had already transpired.

It was all too ridiculously easy. Thus far, the hardest part had been staying out of sight while he waited for his prey to finish his shift.

All of his plans had been made the previous evening. Once Jesse was asleep, only his alarm was ever going to wake him – that had been programmed into him. And that gave Liddell the rest of the night to do exactly as he pleased. His first task had been to go to a disreputable trader that he knew who, even in the dead of night, had quickly made copies of every key that the young doctor owned. Then he had returned and let himself back in, knowing that his presence was guaranteed to go undetected – and he'd prepared his little surprises for the next morning.

Finally, he had pocketed both sets of car keys – the originals and the copies – in anticipation of the night that was yet to come.

He had arrived at the hospital a full two hours before Jesse was due to finish his shift – and that was his second visit to Community General that day. His first had been to park the Mustang in the spot made familiar by his previous surveillance of the young man – and to deposit his keys back in his jacket, secured away in his all too easily accessible locker. He knew Jesse's shift times perfectly well, as his duty roster was conscientiously pinned to his fridge.

Moments later, his waiting finally paid off. The elevator doors of the underground lot opened and a familiar figure emerged. The limp had gone, but there was still unmistakable weariness enshrouding the diminutive form. There was something else too – something that hadn't been there that morning. The doctor's shoulders were hunched and tension radiated from him. He even stopped as he exited the elevator, his eyes darting around the dimly lit garage.

So the paranoia had kicked in already. Liddell smiled in the depth of the shadows and, careful to keep to cover, worked his way closer to Jesse's Mustang.

He knew that he never made a sound and was certain that he wasn't seen – so, he figured, it had to be a combination of the drug, the hypnotism and his own twisted games that caused Jesse's steps to falter as he got closer to his car.

Liddell held his breath. He was barely two feet away from his target, but was still completely hidden from view. It can't have been his presence that had spooked the clearly nervous man. And, when Jesse glanced worriedly back over his shoulder, Liddell knew that he was still safe – and the distraction gave him the perfect opportunity to put his plan into action.

He moved swiftly and silently and his victim never stood a chance.

* * *

The first that Jesse knew something really was wrong was when a meaty arm snaked around his neck and tightened against his throat. He couldn't even draw breath to cry out for help – and he feared that terror would have robbed him of his voice even had that not been the case. It certainly robbed him of the ability to act.

All he could do was stand there, frozen in fear, and curse the way that he had refused to listen to his instincts – that had been screaming at him all day.

Everything had been wrong – from the moment that he had woken up that morning. From the mishaps in his apartment to the mystery over his car. Things had been way off kilter and he should have listened to his growing unease and not simply written it off as exhaustion.

Now he was in serious trouble and a frantic glance around the parking garage told him that no help was likely to stumble across them any time soon.

"Alright, Doc, here's how we're gonna play it." The voice when it came was low and menacing and sent shivers running up and down his spine. "We're gonna get in the car and drive outta here. You don't make a sound. You don't call out and you don't try to alert anybody." His assailant leant in closer and his breath warmed Jesse's earlobe. "I'll warn you: I have a gun but I don't have a conscience. I don't care who I kill."

Jesse tried to nod his compliance, but the grip on his throat was too tight. His assailant didn't seem interested in an answer anyway. Moving effortlessly, the big man manoeuvred them both around to the driver's side of the Mustang.

His heart racing, he reached a trembling hand into his pocket, intending to retrieve his keys – and silently wondering if this might be his chance of salvation. He would do nothing to endanger anyone, but he could hope that someone saw them. Surely the sight of him being driven from the hospital by a stranger, in his own car, would be enough to arouse suspicion. And, while it might not save him from his immediate fate, he could at least hold onto the hope that someone might be looking for him. Then the voice behind him chuckled softly.

"She's a beautiful machine," he said, openly admiring the sleek lines of the Mustang. "And, much as I'd love to drive her again, she's a little too distinctive." He swung Jesse around so that he was facing the car parked next to it – a mundane brown sedan – and opened the passenger side door. "Get in," he growled.

Jesse wondered if he dared try to make a break for it. So far, he had seen no sign of the threatened gun and there was always the chance that the big man was bluffing. Another quick glance around showed him that the parking lot was still deserted, so he wouldn't be putting anyone but himself in danger.

But then he was given a rough shove from behind, that sent him crashing into the vehicle and it became apparent that his captor wasn't taking any chances. The car door was wide open and Jesse could see, hanging from the handle, a pair of handcuffs.

Taking advantage of his shock, his abductor caught hold of his wrists and enclosed them in the steel bracelets.

"Just so you don't get any ideas about trying to escape while I'm driving," he said, with a smirk.

Trapped and terrified, Jesse couldn't prevent himself from being forced into the passenger seat. Then the big man walked around the car and got into the driver's side. He leant across Jesse and calmly fastened his seatbelt. Seeing the surprise on his captive's face, he grinned: "I wouldn't want to go breaking any traffic laws. It wouldn't do for us to get pulled over, now would it?"

TBC…

_Please review – it both encourages and inspires._


	7. Trance 7

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_ and _"Misdiagnosis Murder"._ Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Seven.

"So, doc, you been seeing any strange lights in the sky lately?"

Jesse was pulled out of his fear induced stupor when the man spoke to him in a tone that bordered on friendly. He had been staring out of the window, not seeing the passing scenery, but wondering what the hell was happening – and, more importantly, what he was going to do about it.

He had seen nobody he recognised as they had driven from the hospital – not that it would have done any good if he had. Once he was secure in his seat and still shackled to the door, the man had put a baseball cap on his head, pulling the brim down low. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it did ensure that nobody would recognise him with only the briefest glance.

Since then, he had tried questioning his captor – asked who he was and what he wanted – but he'd only ever received silence in response, so he had turned his frightened gaze out of the window, trying to garner some clue as to where they might be going.

So, when the man did eventually speak to him – seemingly out of the blue – Jesse risked a glance towards him. He licked his dry lips, trying to think of a way to answer the question that was totally out of keeping with his current situation.

"Wh… what do you mean?" he stammered, fear making his voice tremble.

"Strange lights in the sky," the man repeated, an edge of impatience in his voice. "You know: UFOs, aliens…" Cruel blue eyes met his for the briefest moment before returning to the road. "Little green men."

Jesse's eyes widened, but once again he could not find his voice. The five days he had lost at the hands of Perris Pharmaceuticals had haunted him for months and still had the ability to inspire nightmares.

It was the not knowing that was the worst. For five days he had been held prisoner and he knew that he had been hurt – but only because he had wound up in the hospital. He had no idea what his captors had actually done to him – and five days was a long time to be at somebody's mercy.

He remembered the cabin; remembered the argument over the Lite beer and Steve heading back into town. But his next memory had been of the harsh sunlight and dry heat of a roadside in Utah.

And now this man – this maniac who had abducted him – was teasing him about aliens and UFOs. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't.

"Who are you?" he whispered, hoarsely.

"You mean you don't remember me, Jesse?" The other man laughed, nastily. "Careful now, you don't want to hurt my feelings." Another glance was aimed at the young doctor. "And I certainly remember you. How you screamed for me."

"Y… you..?" Cold dread swept over Jesse as the implications of the man's words sank in. He had been in Utah. He had been one of those who had tortured him and left him for dead. He knew exactly what had happened during those five empty days.

Nausea churned in the young doctor's gut and he found himself praying for this conversation to end, for them to reach their destination, for _anything _to happen other than his captor to reveal the truth to him.

After so long not knowing, after living with the nightmares and slowly coming to terms with his ordeal, he didn't think he had the strength – or the courage – to face those answers.

His prayers were answered when the car pulled into the garage of a private house, but then he knew that his nightmare was far from over when his abductor turned to face him.

"So Jesse," he said, with a sadistic smile on his face. "Are you ready to scream for me again?"

Jesse couldn't answer, but that didn't faze the other man. He unclipped both of their seatbelts and then got out of the car, crossing swiftly to the passenger side. Once there, he yanked the door open with far more force than was necessary. Jesse, still bound to the handle, was dragged from his seat, to land in an inelegant heap on the floor.

Chuckling softly at the sight, Liddell reached into his pocket and retrieved the handcuff key. Then he finally released the other man's wrists and hauled him roughly to his feet.

"Now we get to go and see my employers," he told his clearly terrified captive. "I'll bet you don't remember them either."

Jesse thought that he was going to be sick. All of his memories of the time following his return from Utah had been awoken – and the events were replaying in his head with startling clarity. He had treated Mark appallingly, unforgivably: snapping at him; shouting at him; pushing him away. And, ultimately, firing a gun at him.

He still felt horribly guilty about that, even though he'd been almost out of his mind with the effects of the drugs he had unknowingly ingested. Mark had never harboured any grudge or resentment over that – but it had taken Jesse a whole lot longer to get over it than any of his friends had realised.

Deep down he knew that he should be trying to take stock of his situation – trying to figure out if there was any hope of escape. He was no longer bound and there had still been no evidence to suggest that the threatened gun actually existed. But he was too damned scared. His imagination was in overdrive and preventing even the merest hint of rational thought. His head was filled with memories of formless nightmares that had left him screaming and shaking and soaked in sweat – and he had never been able to explain to anybody, not even himself, as to why. He didn't want to live through that again. In fact, he wasn't sure that he could.

But nor could he do anything about it as he was propelled through a door and into a room where two other men waited. One of them, a tall blonde man, looked vaguely familiar – but Jesse didn't have the chance to try and place that familiarity before an Oriental man approached him, a hypodermic needle clearly visible in his hand.

Jesse's eyes latched onto the syringe and he baulked, digging in his heels and trying to halt his progress across the carpeted floor. He strove again to find his voice, but before he could utter a single word of protest, the needle pierced his skin and his terror was replaced by pain.

* * *

It was late by the time Amanda left the hospital. Like Jesse, she had also been dividing her time between work and the beach house – and, when she hadn't been actively doing something to help Mark, she had spent an awful lot of time worrying about him.

On top of that, she now had a new worry to add to her list. Jesse's strange behaviour still nagged at her and something was telling her not to simply brush it off and wait for it to pass. That same something was telling her that her young friend was in trouble. The problem was that that 'something' didn't give her any hint as to what she should do about it.

It had kept her distracted for almost the entire day and, thus, her work had suffered as a result. But it was work that had to be done and as a consequence it was gone midnight before she finally made her weary way down to the parking garage. It was almost deserted at that time of night – _almost _deserted. Amanda's footsteps faltered as she – for the second time that day – found herself staring at a very familiar Mustang.

She silently wondered what on Earth was Jesse still doing there at that hour. His shift was long over and there had been no major incidents that might have caused him to stay. She also knew that he had intended to call at the beach house on his way home. How was he going to do that without his car?

Not knowing what she was expecting to see, she peered in through the passenger side window. Nothing seemed to be out of place and she asked herself what she was looking for – wondering if Jesse's strange behaviour was rubbing off on her.

Her brow furrowed into a frown as she stared into the empty car. She knew that there had to be an explanation for what she was seeing, but she was too tired to even think straight.

That thought hit home. _Too tired…_ Jesse had been beyond exhaustion when she had last seen him – even if she didn't know the reasons why – and her friend was nothing if not safety-conscious; at least when it came to other people's safety. He had been known to be somewhat cavalier with regard to his own wellbeing on occasion. There was no way that he would have got behind the wheel if he hadn't felt up to driving. He wouldn't have put risk to anyone else on the road.

But that solution then begged the question as to how he had got home. He had been utterly determined to visit the beach house on route – and she would have thought that nothing could have swayed him from that. She cursed softly to herself, wishing that the hour wasn't quite so late. Then she could have called Steve, on some pretext, and at least found out whether Jesse had made it there.

As it was, she had no choice but to go home and try again to track down her errant friend in the morning.

* * *

Liddell leaned forwards and looked into Jesse's glassy, unfocussed eyes. He waved a hand in front of his face, but the young doctor did not so much as flinch.

"So," he smirked. "Is he all ready for a test run now?"

"Test run?" Reed scowled over at him. "There isn't going to be a test run."

"What, you're just gonna expect him to go off and kill old man Sloan without giving him a trial run first?" Liddell didn't even try to keep the scorn out of his voice. "That's one hell of a lot of faith in your own abilities."

"There cannot be a 'trial run' as you put it, Mr Liddell." Reed's voice was tight with irritation. "This is a one shot opportunity. And it's not about having faith in anything. This will work. I guarantee it."

"Why the sudden interest, Mr Liddell?" Yoshimoto's cultured voice cut through the growing tension. "After all, whether this works or not, you've already been paid."

"Just curious," Liddell responded, with a disinterested shrug. "I mean, if this works and you create the perfect murderer, well it could do guys like me out of a job."

"Trust me," Reed answered – and his accompanying smile was anything but friendly. "There will always be a place in this world for 'guys like you'."

"Hey, without me, you wouldn't even have him." Liddell instantly rose to the bait. "You didn't even know who…"

"Gentleman, please." The unusual sound of Yoshimoto raising his voice instantly halted the argument. "Bickering amongst ourselves is hardly the ideal preparation, now is it?" The other two men exchanged a glare, but both fell silent. Yoshimoto nodded his head in satisfaction and then continued: "We are all on the same side here and, Peter," he said, using Reed's alias. "I don't see any reason why you shouldn't answer our colleague's question. After all, his work here is not yet done."

"Very well." Reed paused, visibly suppressing his hostility. When he spoke again, his eyes were fixed firmly on Jesse. "We have tested our system as thoroughly as was humanly possible. However, there is one reaction that we cannot predict – and nor can we test it effectively."

Liddell cocked a curious eyebrow. This was the first time that the arrogant doctor had admitted that his plan might not have been perfect, after all.

"We have no way of knowing how he will react after the murder. That is one of the reasons why I am unwilling to instruct him to commit suicide after the deed is done. I cannot predict how his psyche will respond to committing an act so alien to the very essence of who he is."

"Are you saying that he might go crazy, or something?" Liddell asked, intrigued by the latest turn of events. "You know, freak out, maybe?"

"I'm saying that I don't know," Reed retorted, testily. "There are a number of ways in which he might react. Even he doesn't know the answer, so it's impossible to predict. And the aftermath is equally important to this experiment. People are going to be watching us very closely."

"Simple answer," the thug answered after a moment's thought. "Why don't you just tell him not to remember? Then you don't have to worry about any reaction."

Reed looked at the other man appraisingly for a moment. "And what would be the fun in that?" he asked. Then the two of them finally exchanged a smile that wasn't edged in hostility.

TBC…


	8. Trance 8

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_ and _"Misdiagnosis Murder"._ Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Eight.

The alarm dragged Jesse back to consciousness what felt like only minutes after his head had hit the pillow – not that he could remember even getting into bed. As he blinked his eyes open, he realised that he must have been totally exhausted and collapsed almost as soon as he'd walked through the front door. He hadn't bothered to get undressed, but had slept fully clothed on top of the covers. He hadn't even retained the presence of mind to kick off his shoes.

He rolled over and used one hand to slap the incessant alarm into silence, biting back a moan as a fierce headache broke through the exhaustion that his sleep had done little to alleviate, and squinted at the clock. Then he sat bolt upright, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. He blinked, but the digital figures didn't change – silently informing him that it was 7.45am. He had precisely fifteen minutes before his shift was due to start. He blinked again, the fog of sleep still clouding his mind, and the clock ticked over another minute.

Still that didn't provoke the bewildered young man into action. His brain was struggling to process what his eyes were telling him. He had been on the same shift for the past four days. He wouldn't have reset his alarm – he had no reason to. The only conclusion that he could reach was that the clock was wrong and he glanced down at his wrist, at the watch he still wore. It gave him exactly the same message as the alarm clock had.

Jesse massaged his temples, still not fully awake. Nothing was making any sense and he swung his legs to the floor, still lost in utter confusion. He wasn't the type to oversleep – at least not on a workday. He did sometimes indulge himself in that luxury on his day off. And, if he had slept close to two hours longer than he should have, then why was he still feeling so damned tired?

His hand moved from his temple down to his jaw and he winced inwardly as his fingers brushed the overnight growth of stubble. There was no time to shave. There wasn't even time to try and freshen up – though he did vaguely note that he could grab his shower at the hospital again – and he bit back a groan. Not only would he be hauled over the coals for his tardiness, but he was also going to turn up looking like something the cat had dragged in. He could only be thankful that Mark wasn't going to be there to witness it.

_Mark. _Jesse froze in his tracks as he realised that, once again, circumstance had prevented him from visiting his mentor. He hadn't even managed to call him the previous day. Mark must have been beginning to wonder if something was wrong. That bothered Jesse even more than his current situation. He had neglected his friend – who also happened to be his patient – and to him, that was the greatest sin of all.

He could remember thinking that he would call by the beach house on his way home the previous day, but he was fairly certain that that hadn't happened. His memories were a little vague, but he couldn't recall any conversation with either Mark or Steve – and he still had a nagging sense of unease in the pit of his stomach; there simply because he didn't know how his patient was progressing.

But nor could he remember travelling home and those little lapses of memory were beginning to scare him. Then there was the entire episode revolving around his car. Amanda must have thought that he was completely crazy, tearing around the hospital trying to track down his Mustang. But then, as he thought about it, he could almost believe that himself. He could still clearly remember that highly irritating cab driver. Except that the man had never existed. He couldn't have, Jesse had driven in to work that morning.

Jesse exited the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. He supposed that he should call the hospital and let them know that he was on his way in, so he pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket and then almost dropped it in surprise when it suddenly burst into life.

He recognised the number as being Amanda's and frowned as he answered it, wondering what she wanted at such an early hour.

"_Finally!"_ The pathologist's voice was shockingly loud and filled with impatience – and it only served to worsen the headache that he had awoken with that morning. _"I've been trying to reach you for over an hour. Why don't you answer your phone?"_

"What? Why?" Sudden panic flooded through him. "What is it, Amanda? Is it Mark?"

"_Jesse, calm down. Mark's fine." _

He thought he could detect mild amusement in her voice and his feeling of dread passed. "Then why have you been calling?" he asked, embarrassed by his initial response.

"_I just thought that you might want a lift into work."_

"Huh?" Those words brought back the confusion he'd been feeling from the moment he had woken up. "Um… a lift?"

"_Jesse, how else were you going to get there? You left your car there last night, didn't you?"_

By now, the young man had reached the complex door. He stepped through it, his eyes automatically going to his habitual parking space. It stood empty.

"_Jesse? Jesse, are you still there?"_

"Um… sorry…" He floundered for an appropriate response, but came up lacking. "A lift?"

"_Jesse, are you alright?"_

"Uh, yeah." Was he, though? He silently wondered. If he had left his car at the hospital, then how had he got home? And, more importantly, why couldn't he remember? "Yeah," he said again, knowing that he wasn't going to find the answers there on the street. "A lift would be good."

"_Then I'll see you in about twenty minutes."_

Jesse rung off and headed back into his apartment. He could get showered and shaved in that time – and at least he could show up for work looking, if not feeling, halfway human. He had felt a profound sense of relief at Amanda's offer. Relief that he wouldn't have to call a cab. He just knew that he would have recognised the driver – and that it would be the same man that his imagination had conjured up the previous day. He even feared that the conversation would go exactly the same way – and he didn't think that his fragile hold on reality would be able to handle that.

* * *

Liddell had just unlocked Jesse's front door when the sound of footsteps on the stairs reached him. He paused for the merest fraction of a second, weighing up his options. Should he continue on his way in or try to find a place to hide until the interloper had passed by? The answer was self-evident. The perfect place to hide was right in front of him – inside the apartment.

The lone occupant had already left – and in a hurry, too. So long as he locked up behind him, then no suspicion should be aroused. He spared a quick glance towards the stairwell, but whoever was ascending still had not come into view. Liddell slipped inside the apartment.

In all of his visits to the complex, he had taken great care to remain unobserved. After the murder of Mark Sloan, then there would be cops and reporters all over the place. It wouldn't do for some over-observant neighbour to mention that a stranger had been hanging around. And it would be even worse should somebody be able to come up with a description of him.

Once inside the apartment, he looked around slowly. He knew that he was running out of time on this particular job, but there was still a lot of fun to be had at the doctor's expense. And he had all the time in the world to prepare a few more surprises. He decided to start in the kitchen – removing every scrap of food from the place would bring him some amusement – and he had just opened the refrigerator when he heard a sound.

Liddell froze in mid-action. There was no mistaking the sound he had heard. It had been a key turning in the lock behind him.

He ducked down behind the kitchen counter as the door swung open, silently cursing the bad luck that had forced him into this situation. He had watched the doctor leave the building. There was no way that he could have anticipated him returning so quickly – especially not when he had ensured that he was late for work. That in itself begged another question. What if it wasn't Travis? He knew from his observation of the man that he didn't employ a housekeeper, but he did not know which of his friends – if any – held a spare key.

Holding his breath as he crouched out of sight, Liddell's eyes darted around the confined space, seeking out possible escape routes but finding none. He cocked his head, listening hard and trying to garner some clue as to the identity of the person who had disturbed him, but all he heard was the door clicking shut and then the rattle of keys as they were dropped onto a table.

Soft footsteps headed away from him, towards the bedroom and Liddell finally allowed himself to breathe. That had brought him at least a little time. He wasn't scared of being caught – he knew that he could handle a confrontation should he need to – but he didn't want to have to explain to his employers that even the slightest thing had gone wrong with their carefully laid plan. He didn't think that they would understand him taking such a huge risk merely for his own entertainment.

The sound of running water reached his astute ears and Liddell saw his chance to escape. He peered out from his hiding place and then, seeing the lounge area deserted, crept towards the door. Then his eyes fell on the bunch of keys. They definitely belonged to the young doctor – it was the same bunch that he had taken to be copied – and he paused.

Now that he knew for certain who it was in the shower, his initial concerns died down. He thought back to the times that his victim had been hypnotised. He had been instructed not to remember anything about it – including the man who had abducted him. Now Liddell wondered if any of those instructions were still working on the doctor. What would happen if Travis were to see him now, outside of that controlled environment? Would he remember anything? Would it trigger memories of what had happened before? The mere possibility that that might happen was too much of a risk for even Liddell to take, but the opportunity that was now presented to him was simply too good to pass up. He still had time – the water was still running – and he unlocked the door, ready to precipitate his escape.

* * *

Jesse closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool tiles of his shower stall, letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders and down his back. It couldn't wash away the weariness he felt, couldn't cleanse him of exhaustion. But, after believing that he would go to work unwashed, it felt like possibly the best shower he had ever taken. But, by necessity, it also had to be a brief one. He still had to shave and dress before Amanda arrived.

Reluctantly shutting off the water, Jesse grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Another draped over his shoulders caught the drips from his hair. Then Jesse turned towards the mirror on the wall – and his heart turned to ice in his chest. The glass had steamed up whilst he was in the shower but there, quite plain to see, was a smiley face finger painted into the condensation.

For the longest of moments, Jesse couldn't move. Somebody had been into the bathroom whilst he had been in the shower. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks and, almost without conscious thought, he reached out to erase the damning evidence of that visit. Grabbing a robe to replace the towels that he suddenly felt vulnerable wearing, Jesse reached a trembling hand towards the closed bathroom door.

The apartment looked empty, but Jesse knew better than to be deceived by looks. Taking a nervous step forwards, he tried to summon his courage.

"H… hello?" he called out and then winced as he noticed how terrified he'd sounded. Only silence greeted his words. "Who's there?" he called again, with slightly less of a tremor in his voice.

He took another step, thinking how foolish he was going to look if it was just one of his friends playing a joke on him. But it didn't feel like a joke – it most certainly wasn't funny – and something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He glanced towards the telephone, wondering if maybe he should call someone – but rejected the idea almost as soon as it had arisen. A smiley face drawn onto his bathroom mirror hardly constituted a crime – and he could just imagine what the reaction of the cops would be.

Then his eyes strayed to the front door and his keys that he could see dangling from the lock. He frowned and bit his lip. He never left his keys in the door. Approaching cautiously, half expecting it to suddenly open, he grasped the handle. It turned easily in his hand. Jesse felt bile fill his mouth and sickness churn in his stomach. His apartment had been left wide open, for anyone to wander in and out, the whole time that he had been in the shower. And somebody had obviously done exactly that.

Taking a moment to relock the door, Jesse turned and slowly looked around, wondering if anything had been stolen. Nothing appeared to be out of place and Jesse's frown deepened. Why would somebody break into his apartment just to paint a smiley on his mirror? The answer was simple – they wouldn't.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as his headache chose that moment to remind him of its presence. He was finally losing his mind – there was no other explanation for it. He had forgotten to lock the door and the face that he'd seen on the mirror had been nothing more than a random pattern that his mind had chosen to turn into an image. The pressure was getting to him – Mark's heart attack and his own increased workload was proving to be too much for him to take. Either that or he was sickening for something.

Jesse slumped down onto the couch and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead – checking his temperature. It didn't feel excessively warm, but that in itself didn't really mean anything. He had felt distinctly under the weather for the past few days and, in spite of what his alarm clock told him, he knew that he hadn't been sleeping well. With a weary shake of his head, he curtailed his attempted self-diagnosis and reached for the half-empty coffee mug that sat on the table before him. Maybe a few sips of his favourite cure-all would clear away some of the cobwebs.

It was still quite warm, he noted absently as he raised the reviving brew to his lips. Then he took a sip and was instantly gagging and choking and spraying the liquid across his lap, the table and the carpet. His nausea returned and threatened to get the better of him as he identified the taste of salt in his drink. Swallowing down the bile, he put the mug back onto the table – and finally realisation caught up with him. He hadn't made coffee that morning. He hadn't had the time. Firstly, he had overslept and had rushed straight out of the door. Then Amanda had called him and he had headed straight into the shower.

Jesse's paranoia returned with a vengeance. Someone had definitely been there – he was certain of it – and he shot up from the couch, turning sharply, almost as though expecting that someone to be standing behind him. There was no-one there, but that didn't calm his fears even in the slightest. His hands shook and his stomach was tight as he tried to make some sense of what was happening to him. There was no sense to be made.

He could feel cold sweat prickling down his spine and his heart was beating at twice its normal rate. Why would anyone do such a thing to him? How had they got access to his apartment? And, most importantly of all, were they still inside? He knew that he really should check, but he was terrified. Nothing dramatic had happened to him and he hadn't been harmed in any way, but these things had happened in his own home, where he was supposed to feel safe. Instead he felt violated.

He shivered involuntarily and flinched at a slight sound that he wasn't even sure he hadn't imagined. His gaze flitted left and right and his breathing sounded too loud to his own ears.

When there was sudden loud banging at the door, he almost jumped out of his skin and a frightened cry escaped him, in spite of his best efforts to prevent it. Then a voice floated in to him.

"Jesse? Jesse, are you ready?"

It was Amanda's voice and he sagged back onto the couch in utter relief. He knew he should call out to her and he licked his dry lips, but residual terror still held his voice. The knocking came again more loudly and, when Amanda called out a second time, there was unmistakable impatience in her tone.

He pushed himself to his feet and, still not trusting his voice, went over to unlock the door.

Amanda wasn't quite tapping her foot when the door swung open, but he had a feeling that she was not far off that action. Then she looked at him and her expression transformed into one of irritation.

"Jesse, I thought you would have at least been dressed," she scowled, brushing past him and into the apartment before he could warn her of any potential danger.

"Um…" Jesse glanced down at himself – at the robe that he still wore – and wondered how he could possibly explain the events of the morning. "Sorry…" he mumbled.

"Well go on!" She looked pointedly at him and then at the bedroom door. "Get a move on. You're already late, you know."

"Uh, yeah." The young man shuffled his feet, feeling about ten years old. Now that he was no longer alone, his fears were fading fast, leaving him feeling embarrassed about his over-reaction. His heart wasn't racing and his tremors had subsided – and it was easy to tell himself that there could have been logical explanations for everything that had happened. He truly was exhausted – he had been for days now – and there was the chance that his mind was playing tricks on him. He might have left the door unlocked, he might have made coffee and used salt instead of sugar. He just couldn't remember either of those things – that didn't mean they hadn't happened by his own hand.

At least that's what he tried to convince himself as he hurriedly dressed, dragging on the clothes that he'd discarded before his shower. It was so much easier to hold on to that belief than to contemplate the alternative.

"So, are you ready to go now?" Amanda stood up as her young friend emerged from the bedroom. Then her gaze narrowed and she studied him more closely. Jesse looked awful. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, looking as though he had slept in them, and the fact that he hadn't shaved only added to his dishevelled appearance.

"Sure," Jesse mumbled in response and he sounded as though it was the last thing on Earth that he wanted to do.

"Jesse, honey, are you okay?" Any irritation at having had to wait was quickly replaced by concern. And that concern deepened when he could only meet her eyes for the briefest of moments. "Jess?" she prompted, gently.

"I… uh, I'm fine…" he lied – totally unconvincingly. "I just, uh… I didn't sleep so well."

"Are you sickening for something?" Amanda asked, taking a half step closer to him. "Maybe you should stay home today."

"No!" The response was instant and panicked.

"Jesse…" The pathologist was starting to get seriously worried. When Jesse's eyes had met hers for a second time, they had been filled with tears.

"I'm fine." His abrupt tone effectively ended the conversation and he turned away from her to snatch his keys off the table. "Can we get going? I'm already late."

TBC…


	9. Trance 9

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_ and _"Misdiagnosis Murder"._ Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Nine.

It was becoming a habit, Amanda glumly realised later that day. Her sitting alone in her lab, worrying about one of her friends and wondering what she should do about it.

Jesse had, point blank, refused to admit that there was anything wrong throughout their drive to the hospital. But it was abundantly clear that that was not true. Though he had smiled on occasion, those smiles had been forced and there had been none of his customary good humour in evidence at all.

Getting him to talk about it, however, had been a different matter entirely. He had no explanation as to why he was running so late – other than that he had overslept, something that she had never known Jesse to do on a workday – and had kept on insisting that he felt fine, in spite of how contradictory that statement was to his very appearance. Then, when they had arrived at the hospital, he had paused for the longest moment staring at his Mustang as though wondering what it was doing there. The look on his face had bordered on frightened and, when Amanda had gently asked him what was wrong, he had seemed on the verge of tears. Then he had disappeared into the hospital, quickly mumbling his thanks for the lift.

Work had prevented the pathologist from investigating any further that morning – not that there was a lot she could do. With Jesse refusing to talk to her, she was left to her own speculations and she wasn't about to jump to any conclusions.

She wished that she could talk it over with someone, but wasn't about to worry either Mark or Steve. But, she realised with a grimly determined smile, it wouldn't hurt to call the beach house – just to see how Mark was doing. And, if Jesse's name were to crop up in the conversation, that it wouldn't do any harm. Feeling slightly better now that she was actually doing something, Amanda reached for the phone.

Steve answered on only the second ring. He sounded relaxed and Amanda allowed herself a small smile as she realised that him taking the time off – primarily to take care of his dad – was also doing him the world of good. Then her smile faded as she remembered the ulterior motive behind her call.

"How's Mark?" She started with the safest of questions.

"_He's fine, Amanda. You can tell Jesse that he's following his instructions to the letter."_

Amanda's heart skipped a beat. She had been trying to think of a way to bring their mutual friend's name into the conversation and Steve had presented her with the opportunity on a plate.

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" she asked, feigning casualness.

"_I would if I could just get hold of him. I don't know why he carries a cellphone if he's never going to answer it."_

"You mean he hasn't been round there?" Amanda's frown deepened as she recalled the trouble she'd had getting hold of Jesse that very morning.

"_Not for a couple of days. Why? Amanda, is something wrong?"_

"No, no. Everything's fine," she hastened to reassure him, even as she cursed his intuition. "It's just that when I saw him this morning, he looked pretty frazzled. I figured he was spreading his time between the hospital and your house."

"_Not guilty. I haven't even spoken to him in two days. I figured he must have been busy with… Oh, dammit!"_

"What?" Now it was Amanda's turn to be concerned, brought about by his sudden exclamation.

"_Bob's." _The succinct reply did little to enlighten her, but the detective was quick to elaborate. _"I meant to arrange some cover for my shifts at Barbeque Bob's. Dammit, I bet that's where Jesse's been."_

"He didn't mention it to me." It made sense, but Amanda wasn't entirely convinced.

"_That doesn't surprise me, either. If he mentioned it to you, then you might mention it to me and Jesse would say that I've got enough on my plate without having to worry over some needless guilt trip."_

Amanda smiled at the wryness in his tone. Yes, that was exactly what Jesse would say – and he would work the extra shifts at their co-owned restaurant without complaint, for as long as he was needed. It also sounded to Amanda as though the guilt trip had already been established – needless, or not. Steve's next words only compounded that feeling.

"_I'll get on it right away. And, Amanda? If you see Jesse before I do, tell him I'm sorry."_

* * *

It would have warmed Jesse's heart to know that his friends were concerned about him. While he would never go out of his way to make them worry – in fact the opposite was true and he always tried hard to hide his worries from them – their friendship meant a lot to him. And, as Amanda and Steve discussed him over the phone, he felt as though he really needed a friend.

He was starting to fear that he was losing his mind. The last two days held some terrifying blanks in his memory and the more he tried to think about it, the more it freaked him out. He didn't want to think about it, but the day was turning out to be accursedly slow and his mind kept drifting back to the series of inexplicable events that had befallen him. He had even found himself sipping tentatively at the coffee that he fixed for himself on his break – lest it contained any surprises. It hadn't – and his actions had left him feeling more foolish and paranoid than ever.

The caffeine boost, however badly it was needed, didn't do him any favours either. It only served to start his mind racing again – plaguing him with questions that he couldn't possibly hope to answer.

After his break he headed down to the ER. While he would never wish misfortune on anybody, a part of him hoped that things would pick up during the afternoon. Not only would it serve as a distraction, but he also needed all the help he could get simply to stay awake. That in itself was a whole new dilemma. He knew that he had been sleeping. Even if he couldn't actually remember going to bed, he had awoken there each morning – but he felt like he was back in his intern days, when thirty-six hour shifts hadn't been uncommon.

* * *

At the beach house, Steve frowned thoughtfully at the phone he had just hung up. After speaking to Amanda, his guilt had quickly got the better of him and he had been straight on the phone to Barbeque Bob's. What his staff had told him had initially perplexed him but, as he continued to stare at the now dormant telephone, his concern quickly grew.

Jesse hadn't been covering Steve's shifts at the restaurant. In fact, Jesse hadn't been there at all. It wasn't a problem – and he hadn't been alerted to it – because they employed some good staff. They all knew what had happened to Mark and had quietly got on with the task of keeping the business running smoothly. But that didn't make it any less of a mystery.

His friend hadn't been at the restaurant, hadn't been at the beach house and – from what Amanda had told him – hadn't been working overtime at the hospital. So exactly what was he doing to leave him looking so wiped – and wiped enough for Amanda to be expressing concern over the workaholic young man?

Steve thought about it for a while longer. It was nowhere near either his or his father's birthdays, so there were no surprise parties being planned – and he could think of no other reason why Jesse should resort to such secrecy. He was normally such a social person, spending almost as much time at the beach house as he did his own apartment. And something had to be keeping him busy, to prevent him from joining them for one of his father's almost legendary gourmet meals.

But at least it was a mystery that he could go some way towards solving. Picking up the phone again Steve dialled Jesse's number. Two minutes later, he hung up again and asked himself the same question that he had voiced aloud to Amanda: Why did the young doctor bother carrying a cellphone if he was never going to answer it?

* * *

The reason that Jesse didn't answer his phone was simply because he never heard it ringing. It was in his pocket and it was even switched on, but its shrill tones never penetrated the pounding in his head or the roaring in his ears.

He was standing in a corridor with his back pressed up against the wall and his palms flat against its cool tiles. He clung to the solidity of that wall because, at that moment, it was the only solid and real thing that he had in his entire existence. Everything else was a nightmare. It had to be – because, otherwise, he really had lost his mind completely.

After his break, Jesse had headed back down to the ER but, even before the reception desk had come into view, a strident voice had reached his ears. Normally such a thing would have sent him hurrying towards his destination to see if he could do anything to help – but this particular voice had the opposite effect on him. Instead, his heart had begun to race and irrational fear had driven him to his current position – where he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears and shut out that dreaded voice.

He had recognised it instantly, even though the rational part of his mind tried to tell him that it was impossible, and he didn't dare look around the corner to see if his face was the same. He just knew that it would be – and confirmation of that knowledge would only serve to add further credence to his theory that he really was going insane.

"Look, I got her here, didn't I? She's gonna be okay. So if one of you will just come outside and tell this damned cop…"

The accursed voice continued to assail Jesse's ears, but he couldn't flee from where he stood. His legs felt as though they were about to give out on him as it was. At another time it might have been funny, but Jesse felt more like crying than laughing. His dream had become reality and there was no logical explanation that his tortured mind could come up with.

The cab driver – who he had never met, because he had driven into work on that fateful day – had finally been granted his wish. He had picked up his fare and it had been an emergency – and he had broken every speed limit in getting to the hospital, just as he had always wished he could.

Everything that he had lamented to Jesse on that journey – that had apparently never happened – was being repeated to the hapless nurse on duty.

* * *

Amanda was smiling as she walked down the corridor and it felt like the first time she had smiled in what was turning out to be a trying day. She still had her nagging concerns over Jesse – Steve's theory about Bob's had done little to ease that – and two of her assistants had gone sick, leaving her with a heavier workload than normal. Then she had taken a break and had just happened to be on reception when the excitable cab driver had blustered in with his 'emergency' fare.

The woman that he brought in was heavily pregnant but she wasn't in immediate danger of giving birth – as the man's urgency had suggested. Amanda had been on hand to ensure that she was taken care of and had then had her ear well and truly bent about a cab driver's lot.

But she also realised that his car was his living and he couldn't afford to pick up a citation. After all, he had only been trying to help – even if he had relished providing that help a little too much. She had been the one to go out and talk to the irate traffic cop and if she had told a little white lie as to exactly how dire the emergency was, she didn't carry it on her conscience. The man wasn't a doctor – although he did have a healthy opinion on medical matters – he had no way of knowing that the birth wasn't imminent. Her reward had been the offer of a free cab journey whenever she needed it. 'Just ask for Ted; car four-five' he had told her, doffing his cap.

The entire episode couldn't help but remind her of her own less than orthodox childbirth experience. Jesse had delivered her son, CJ, in the back of his car at the roadside. It had been some years ago now and she was able to look back and smile. But, at the time, it had been a truly frightening experience. CJ was her first child and she had wanted everything to be perfect. Jesse, still an intern at the time, had been easily as frightened as she was – if not more so – but he had pulled through and shown the first signs of the skilled and dedicated doctor that he was to become.

When she had told him that she was going to name her child after him – the J standing for Jesse – he had been inordinately proud, if somewhat overenthusiastic. She smiled in fond exasperation at the memory. She had known that Jesse was a highly intelligent young man, but even she had been amazed by the amount of 'famous names' he had come up with who had taken their middle names.

Then she rounded a corner and came to a sudden standstill – her smile falling from her face.

Jesse, whose antics had so entertained her thoughts just moments before, was leaning against a wall with his eyes tightly closed and looking as though he was on the verge of passing out. Worry quickly broke her shock-induced paralysis and she rushed over to where he stood.

"Jesse? What is it? What's wrong?" He looked as though he'd just had the shock of his life – or received devastatingly bad news – and her thoughts instantly turned to Mark. "Jesse, what's happened?"

For a moment it seemed that he hadn't heard her and she grasped hold of his arm, her fingers unconsciously tightening as her worry increased a thousand fold. Then suddenly – and accompanied by a startled gasp – Jesse's eyes shot open. His gaze flitted wildly around the corridor for a few seconds before coming to rest on Amanda's concerned features. He blinked at her – looking like a man who had just awoken from a long sleep – and utter confusion shone from his eyes.

"A… Amanda..?"

"Jesse, can you tell me what happened?" Amanda's heart was still beating at what felt like twice its normal rate – and her friend's odd behaviour was doing little to calm her down. "Is it… Is it Mark?"

"Mark?" Jesse blinked again, before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as though trying to clear it. "No, I… I don't know what happened…"

"Jesse?" Her concern switched back to its original source – the man who was almost swaying on his feet before her. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

The young doctor fought down the bitter laughter that threatened to escape his lips. That was the one thing that he couldn't do.

The silence was dragging on way too long and Jesse knew that it was up to him to break it. Amanda was looking at him with open concern, and he tried to find a convenient lie – to take that worry away. He summoned a half-smile.

"I'm okay. I just… I just felt a little dizzy." It was feeble and, if he had been in the pathologist's shoes, then he wouldn't have believed it for a second. Amanda's expression changed to one of open scepticism.

"You don't look okay," she admonished him. "Jesse, why can't you tell me what's going on? You're constantly exhausted, you look like death warmed over. If you're sick…"

"I'm not," he hurriedly protested. "Honestly, Amanda. I've just… I've not been sleeping too well…"

Amanda smiled thinly. It wasn't much, but it was progress. "You do look pale, honey," she told him, pushing a little harder. "Maybe you should go home."

"No!" Panic suddenly flooded through him at the very thought of returning to his apartment. It wasn't safe there. No matter how hard he tried to rationalise the strange things that had been happening to him – no matter how much he wanted to believe that it had all been down to his imagination – his reaction had been one of pure instinct and his instincts told him that his apartment, his home, was no longer a place of sanctuary or security. Amanda was looking at him strangely and he sought some way to rationalise his outburst. "I… I can't go home," he continued more calmly – though his voice still shook. "I have to work…"

"Jesse, you're in no state to be treating people. You're not well yourself." She used her grip on his arm to ease him away from the wall. "At least let somebody take a look at you."

"I'm fine, Amanda." Jesse offered her a reassuring smile, but could see that she was still far from convinced. "Honestly, I… I'll get some coffee and… I'll be fine."

As much as she wished she could, Amanda couldn't force Jesse to talk to her. He kept insisting that there was nothing wrong – even though that was clearly a lie – and eventually she had run out of excuses to delay him from going back to work.

She watched through narrowed eyes as he made his way back down the corridor. He no longer looked quite so unsteady on his feet and, to anyone who didn't know him well, he seemed almost back to his old self – a little subdued, maybe, but nothing that a restorative boost of caffeine wouldn't cure. Amanda, of course, didn't count herself among that number and she definitely knew that there was something wrong.

She thought back to their brief and awkward conversation – at the way genuine panic had flared in Jesse's eyes when she had mentioned something as innocuous as him going home. Could that be where the trouble lay? She mused silently. Was Jesse having problems at home? It hardly seemed a likely solution. Her young friend lived alone and wasn't even currently in a relationship. It was also highly unlikely that he'd be having trouble with his neighbours. Jesse never spent a huge amount of time at his apartment – using it mostly just for sleeping in – and, though he could be prone to over-exuberance, it wasn't as though he had any noisy hobbies. He wasn't the type to have music blasting out until the early hours.

Maybe somebody had moved in who did exactly that and was thus preventing Jesse from getting enough sleep. But, if that were the case, then why did he not just tell her? Amanda shook her head as her friend disappeared from view. She wasn't simply going to let matters lie but, aside from keeping an eye on him and offering help should he need it, there was very little that she could do.

TBC…


	10. Trance 10

Title: Trance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Rating: T for violence in later chapters.

Summary: An old adversary plots the perfect murder.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also references to _"Alienated"_ and _"Misdiagnosis Murder"._ Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for the reviews so far.

TRANCE.

Part Ten.

"Did I hear the phone?"

Steve glanced up as his father ambled down the stairs. There was no longer any hint of the frailty that had lingered immediately following his heart attack. The rest and recuperation prescribed by Jesse had done him the world of good.

"Yeah," Steve answered, trying not to let his curiosity over the content of that phone call show in his voice. "It was just Amanda checking in."

"Ah."

Steve's eyes narrowed fractionally. His father could put a wealth of meaning into such a simple response – and that one word told the detective that his ploy to pretend that everything was perfectly fine had failed miserably. There was, he knew, no point in playing games. Mark knew that something was amiss and no amount of play-acting or denial would stop him from finding out what that something was. Steve briefly wondered if he had been listening in on the upstairs extension – but then instantly rejected the idea. His father had no need to resort to such duplicity; his instinct was more than enough. And right now he was looking at Steve expectantly, so the detective decided to save them both some time and dove straight in.

"Okay, so she was a little worried about Jesse," he admitted. "She thinks he's been working too hard."

"I've been wondering about that, too," Mark answered, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "Jesse hasn't been here since the day after I was discharged from hospital and that's just not like him." He aimed a speculative look towards his son. "You didn't tell him to stay away, did you?"

"Of course not!" Steve retorted, his outrage evident in his voice.

Mark chuckled softly. "I just thought you might have taken his 'no excitement whatsoever' directive to heart," he explained, his grin indicating that he had never seriously considered that to be a possibility.

"You'd think he'd at least have called, though," Steve grumbled, mostly to himself.

"You mean you haven't even spoken to him?" His father sounded shocked and Steve cursed himself for letting that piece of information slip. Jesse working too hard was not a cause for concern – the young man was totally dedicated to his profession – but Jesse having no contact with them whatsoever was a different matter entirely.

"Well no, not personally," he temporised – starting to squirm a little under Mark's penetrating gaze and regretting him having overheard the telephone.

"Why don't you tell me exactly what Amanda said?" The older man suggested, his eyes narrowing even further.

Reluctantly, Steve recounted the conversation he had had with the pathologist – and her concerns as to why Jesse was so tired when he seemed to have been doing nothing more than his shifts at the hospital. Then – because he knew it would be futile to try and hide anything – he added his own information about Jesse not having been seen at their restaurant either.

"So you think he's in some kind of trouble?" Mark asked, after mulling things over for a few minutes.

"I don't know, dad." Steve no longer tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. This was exactly what he had feared would happen. "But Jesse's a big boy – he can take care of himself. You don't need to get yourself worked up over it."

"I'm not getting worked up over anything," his father answered, with infuriating calmness. "But I am more likely to get worked up if I think that something's wrong and we don't try and do anything about it."

Steve merely glowered at him, in light of his irrefutable logic.

"I know," Mark continued, in that same smug tone. "Why don't you invite him over for dinner tonight? And, if something is bothering him, then a friendly chat between friends might be all that he needs."

Steve didn't answer for the longest of moments. If he was honest with himself – which was something that he could be, when needed – then he had to admit that he was irritated with Jesse. More than that, his irritation was rapidly turning to anger.

Their young friend was a doctor – in fact, he was _Mark's _doctor – and he, of all people, should have known better than to put him under undue stress. As his doctor, he had even specifically forbidden him from getting involved in any murders, mysteries, or any other situation that might increase his stress levels.

Now Jesse, with his strange – almost clandestine – behaviour, was forcing him into one of those exact situations.

Steve gnawed on his lower lip – trying to keep his temper in check until he, at least, had something definite to be angry about. He rolled his shoulders, trying to rid himself of some of the tension there. There was no point in getting wound up – not yet anyway – and his own sombre mood would hardly be conducive to keeping his father calm.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, there was no point in going in at the deep end. But he did allow one stray, dark thought to surface: _You'd better have a good reason, Jesse,_ he silently threatened. _Or, so help me, I might never forgive you for putting him through this._

Aware that his dad was still watching him, Steve summoned a smile. "I'll do that," he said – and was surprised by just how normal his voice sounded.

However, he didn't immediately call Jesse with his dad's invitation. After all, he had already tried once that morning and received no answer. He put it to the back of his mind and concentrated on trying to enjoy the day – and on trying to keep his dad distracted from worrying too much.

It was mid-afternoon before he finally got around to making the call – and could then only listen in frustration as he was instantly diverted to Jesse's voicemail service. Muttering dourly to himself, he hung up and dialled the hospital directly, asking to be put through to Amanda. Unlike their other friend, the pathologist answered almost instantly. Steve's fresh irritation was quickly soothed when she explained that there was nothing sinister behind Jesse not answering his phone on this occasion. He was in the OR.

Somewhat appeased, Steve explained the reason for his call – and extended the dinner invitation to Amanda as well. He asked her to pass the message on to Jesse should she see him and, while she readily agreed to do that, she had to reluctantly decline the offer to join them. She had already planned to be working late – to catch up on her own backlog of work – and if she could get through most of it, she would be able to take the weekend off.

She caught up with Jesse some two hours later, predictably finding him in the doctors' lounge once his stint in theatre was over. He still looked like hell – but that was hardly surprising considering how he had spent his afternoon. The operating theatre could have that effect on any man.

He did offer her a genuine and warm smile he saw her – but that quickly faded when she mentioned the invitation to the beach house for dinner. He was suddenly unable to meet her gaze and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Jess?" she prompted, perturbed by his response. She'd have thought that he would have jumped at the offer.

"Are you, um..? Are you sure that Steve didn't just say that because he'd invited you?" he asked, glancing up at her, hopefully.

"Jesse, the invitation was offered specifically to you," she assured him – then added, jokingly: "If anyone was an afterthought, it was me." When this failed to provoke a reaction, she frowned. "Why would you think such a thing?"

The young man had the good grace to look embarrassed. "It's just that… Well, I haven't been round… I haven't even called…" He looked away, sheepishly. "I kinda figured they'd be mad."

At another time Amanda might have laughed at such an absurd notion – Mark and Steve would never get mad over something so trivial – but her friend was looking so forlorn that she found herself sighing instead. "Oh, honey, they're not mad at you," she strove to convince him. "They just want to see you. That's what friends do, right?"

"I guess…"

Amanda saw guilt flash across his features and realised how – to someone in his fragile emotional state – her words might have been taken as censure.

"Jesse, we're just a little worried about you." She sat down next to him and took his hands in hers. "You really haven't been yourself for the past couple of days. Maybe you are coming down with something." She resisted the urge to put her hand on his forehead to check his temperature – knowing how he would pull away if she even tried. "Maybe you've just been working too hard. I think they just want to see that you're okay – and that's not too much to ask, is it?"

She was rewarded with a much more genuine looking smile.

"So you'll go round for dinner tonight?" she prompted.

"I will," he answered. "I just need to go home and get changed first." When her slight frown returned, he hastened to add: "But I will call Steve first and tell him." It wasn't until he reached towards his pocket that he realised his cellphone was safely in his jacket pocket. He smiled, sheepishly. "Um… I'll do it just as soon as I get to my locker."

As Jesse ambled down the hospital corridors following Amanda's 'pep talk' he found himself in better spirits than he had been in for days. And he was definitely looking forward to dinner at the beach house. Just the thought of Mark's superb cuisine was enough to set his stomach rumbling and to remind him that his appetite had also been affected by whatever it was that had been afflicting him.

His exhaustion hadn't left him completely, but he was able to push it to one side in anticipation of a nice, relaxing evening in the company of good friends. He was feeling mildly foolish about having admitted to Amanda that he'd thought the Sloans might be mad at him – and he fervently hoped that she wouldn't mention it to either of them. Steve might rib him about it, but that was something he could easily live with. His main concern was that they would know he had demonstrated such a complete – and totally unjustified – lack of faith in their friendship.

He still felt some residual guilt at having caused his friends to worry about him. They had enough on their plates without being concerned about his welfare – when there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. But, as with the exhaustion, he was able to ignore that guilt and focus instead on putting the last few days behind him.

Jesse reached his locker and grabbed his jacket, wallet and keys. No sooner had he slipped his coat on, when the cellphone in his pocket burst into life. He quickly retrieved it and then stared uncomprehendingly at the unfamiliar number on the display. With a mental shrug, he answered the call.

* * *

Liddell couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that his agenda had changed – but it most definitely had. His current job was no longer about money – he'd been paid the majority of his fee in advance anyway – and nor was it about professional pride. In the space of a mere three days, his focus had shifted until now all he could think about was Jesse Travis.

He had never been employed to terrorise the same person on two separate occasions before and his current assignment had turned out to be the mother of all coincidences. Now it had become a fixation – almost an obsession.

Travis had been the perfect victim. Drugged and destined never to remember anything that happened to him, Liddell had allowed his imagination to run riot when they had held him prisoner in Utah. He had enjoyed making the doctor scream.

Then, when their paths had unwittingly crossed for a second time, it had been a different kind of torture – mental instead of physical. But Liddell had been given free reign when it came to getting their subject to their chosen destination – and that had been a lot of fun. Because, even if Travis wouldn't remember, he knew full well what was happening at the time. And his terror had been joyous to behold.

Now it was no longer enough.

Liddell could sense that his work was almost done. Three nights of the drug and the hypnosis and he would be ready to kill. This night was to be their third – the final night that he would work with this particular young man whom he had come to know so well.

Deep down, Liddell sensed that all was not well. The plan – brilliant though it seemed – didn't feel right to him. He had a gut instinct that it was destined to failure. And Richard Liddell always trusted his gut instincts. Part of the problem, he knew, was that both of his employers had underestimated their adversary. Not Travis – the doctor was playing the role of victim to perfection – but Mark Sloan and his son, Steve.

The henchman had seen them in action. He'd watched them thwart Perris Pharmaceuticals' even more brilliantly conceived plan and bring their young friend out the other side – not entirely unscathed, but more or less intact. And Perris Pharmaceuticals had had some serious money – and muscle – behind them. They had killed to achieve their ends and the stakes had been much higher than mere revenge. Though Quentin Trask had never answered to the authorities for his actions, Liddell had a strong feeling that he had not gone unpunished.

But, no matter how things played out on this occasion, Liddell had the feeling that he would be seeing the last of Jesse Travis. If the plan succeeded then his victim would be faced with spending the rest of his life in jail – if he escaped the death sentence for committing murder. Either that or he'd be locked up in a psyche-ward somewhere, unable to remember anything, but quickly going insane when faced with the irrefutable proof that he had killed his mentor.

And if the plan failed – then it would be up to Liddell to disappear. He didn't know much about hypnosis, but he did have a strong feeling that the process could be reversed somehow. And, if that were the case, then LA wouldn't be a good place for him to be. So he had resigned himself to the fact that his acquaintance with Travis would soon be over – and that thought filled him with regret. He wasn't a man who liked regrets and he had vowed to make the most of the time that they had left.

His plan was risky – but then what fun was life without a few risks? He had memorised the doctor's shift patterns for the entire week and knew exactly what time he was due to be leaving the hospital. The moment that time arrived, he punched a now-familiar number into his cell. Hearing a hesitant voice respond to his call, a malicious smile lit his face.

"I want you to listen very carefully, Jesse," he snarled, injecting as much menace as possible into his voice. "Do exactly as I say and nobody will get hurt."

* * *

Jesse almost dropped the phone in surprise when the strange and threatening voice answered his hesitant greeting. Instinctively, his eyes darted around the locker room, but he appeared to be alone.

"Who is this?" he blurted, unthinkingly.

Soft, malicious laughter sounded in his ear. _"Rule number one, Doctor Travis,"_ the voice said. _"You don't speak. Not unless I ask you a direct question. Do you understand?"_

Jesse fleetingly wondered whether that was a trick of some kind – but a response did seem appropriate. "Y… Yes…" he stammered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Any threat had, thus far, been vague and indirect – but something about the very voice filled him with nameless terror. He couldn't comprehend where the feeling was coming from, but it was almost overwhelming in its intensity. He held the phone in a white-knuckled grip and had it pressed so close to his face that it soon felt clammy against his sweat soaked cheek. Then the dreaded voice spoke again.

"_Rule number two is that you don't hang up – and that you follow my every instruction. I'm not going too fast for you, am I, Travis?"_

Again Jesse hesitated before answering. He didn't understand what was happening and his eyes were constantly moving, looking for whoever it was that was tormenting him. An impatient sigh sounded in his ear, reminding him that he'd been asked a direct question and was expected to answer. "No…" he mumbled, uncertainly.

"_Good. Now, there's an emergency exit at the back of the room that you're in. Go through it."_

Moving almost as if in a daze, Jesse did as he was instructed. He was bursting with questions that he wanted to ask, but he was too afraid of the vague threat that hung over him. If he spoke out of turn, then somebody would get hurt.

TBC…


	11. Trance 11

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Sorry for the delay in updating, but Real Life has been very difficult lately. Many, many thanks to those who have taken the time to review so far – you've given me a smile when I've really needed one.**

TRANCE.

Part Eleven.

Liddell smiled as the door, that his attention had been so firmly fixed on for the last few minutes, slowly swung open. That smile widened as Jesse Travis wandered out, looking lost and confused – but still holding his cellphone clamped firmly to his ear.

He had been confident that his plan would work – he had done enough over the last two days to ensure that his victim was totally unnerved and had kept him constantly off-kilter with his little games. There was also the drugs and ongoing hypnotism – designed to make the man pliant to their whims – to take into account. He might not yet be a killer, but he was certainly being controlled. He had barely a shred of free will left.

And he had reacted exactly as Liddell would have hoped: instinctively and unthinkingly; reacting only to the implicit threat and the memory of the strange things that had been happening to him, warning him that this was not a joke.

But he hadn't expected it to be quite so easy. Now, he watched his target blinking in the late afternoon sunlight, looking cautiously around the mostly deserted area – and his eyes constantly straying to the dark coloured van, with blacked out windows, that was parked nearby. Liddell was confident that he wouldn't be seen, no matter how the light fell on the windshield – and he held his vantage point, crouched between the two front seats of the van. He stared straight at Jesse, the smile still playing about his lips as the young doctor hovered helplessly where he stood.

The henchman held his silence for a long, long moment – but deliberately ensured that his breathing was audible, reminding his victim that he was still there, watching and waiting. He saw fresh beads of sweat break out on the pale forehead and it was obvious that the man was desperate to say something. But he didn't dare, because he was too afraid of the consequences of breaking the rules.

* * *

If it was possible, then the silence was even more terrifying than the voice had been. Jesse kept the phone pressed tightly to his ear as he emerged through the door, but no further instructions were immediately forthcoming.

His tormentor was still there – Jesse could hear soft breathing through his phone. He didn't know what he was supposed to do next – and he desperately replayed the words that had been said to him, in case he had missed an instruction, or even some obscure clue. But there was nothing in his memory to help him.

He stood by the door – that had swung closed behind him – and surveyed the empty lot he had emerged in. The _almost _empty lot, he silently amended. As he strained his eyes trying to catch some glimpse of whoever might be on the other end of the phone, his gaze kept returning to a nondescript green Transit van parked about a dozen metres from where he stood. The windows were blacked out and the fading sunlight did nothing to penetrate them. All he could see was the reflection of the hospital behind him, but there was something ominous about that van – something foreboding – and Jesse suddenly had the unshakable feeling that he was no longer alone.

He needed to get away, but his legs seemed frozen to the spot. How long was he supposed to stand there? He wanted to ask what was expected of him next, but fear locked the words in his throat.

"_I can see that you've noticed our mode of transport." _The voice spoke suddenly and Jesse let out a stifled cry. He heard soft laughter in response. _"The rear door is unlocked. Go to it and get in."_

He didn't want to. More than anything, he didn't want to obey that ominous instruction. He already felt scared and vulnerable – and he really didn't want to walk calmly towards whoever possessed the frightening voice that his universe was currently centred around. He fleetingly wondered if anybody had noticed his unorthodox exit from the hospital. He half-turned back towards the building.

"_Move!"_

This time the cry that was torn from him was more substantial and he flinched away from the phone, from the anger and violence that one word had contained. He never made a conscious decision to move, but he began to walk – the threatening shape of the van looming ever closer.

The back door was indeed unlocked and Jesse tugged at it with a hand that trembled uncontrollably. It swung silently open and the interior was dark and foreboding. He glanced back over his shoulder, silently praying for a rescue that he knew wouldn't come. Though every instinct screamed at him that this was a bad idea, he could see no other option and he clambered inside.

The fading sunlight did little to penetrate the gloom of the interior, but Jesse's breath caught in his throat as one of the shadows moved and his straining eyes were able to make out the shape of a man. Too late, Jesse tried to respond to the instincts that had been screaming at him to get away; to run as fast as he could and as far away as possible.

He whirled, heading back towards the rectangle of light that marked the still open door of his escape route. He had caught a glimpse of a hulking brute of a man but, for a big man, he was surprisingly quick on his feet and he also must have anticipated Jesse's dash for freedom.

A large hand reached out and snagged the back of his jacket, stopping his progress almost as soon as it had begun, and practically jerking him from his feet. With one fluid motion, Jesse was spun around and slammed face first into the side of the van. The breath knocked out of him, he couldn't even struggle as his hands were dragged behind his back and secured there – the rigid metal of handcuffs biting uncomfortably into his wrists.

Bound and helpless, Jesse was spun back around to face his captor. Cruel blue eyes stared mockingly back at him.

"After all the trouble I went through to get you here," the man said – and it was the same voice that had been on the phone. "Did you really think that I was just going to let you go?"

His captor chuckled softly, but there was no hint of humour to the sound. Momentarily leaving Jesse where he stood, he calmly reached out to close the door of the van and latched it firmly, plunging them into even murkier darkness. Then, as he returned, he stooped and retrieved something from the floor. It was Jesse's cellphone that he had dropped during his abortive attempt to escape. The big man stared at it for a long moment. Then with a smile that was as equally devoid of humour as his laugh had been, he thumbed the key that would switch it off.

"You won't be needing that any more," he said and, drawing Jesse's jacket open, dropped it into one of his inside pockets.

He made no attempt to fasten the jacket again and Jesse found himself suddenly under intense scrutiny – the dispassionate eyes raking slowly up and down his body. Goosebumps sprung up on his arms and his skin began to crawl. If he'd thought he had known fear before, then he was mistaken. It paled in comparison to the terror that now raced through him.

"And now that I've got you," the man murmured. "What am I going to do with you?"

Hands reached for him and Jesse cried out, trying to flinch away. But he was trapped against the cold metal of the van. He closed his eyes, fearing violence, but what his captor had in mind was infinitely worse. He felt the top button of his shirt being unfastened. The second one followed.

"What are you..?" He tried to protest, but suddenly a hand snaked out and grasped his jaw, squeezing it painfully and cutting off his words. He cracked his eyes open. The other man's face was so close to his that they were almost touching – and Jesse could see the glint of sadism in his eyes.

"When I told you that somebody would get hurt, Jesse," he snarled, tightening his grip until tears stood in the frightened blue eyes. "That somebody was only ever going to be you."

Jesse tried to swallow his tears, but he was too scared to even think straight. He could hardly comprehend that he had walked so meekly into this trap. Now he was completely at the mercy of his captor – but mercy wasn't a thing that looked likely from the man who had trapped him. He was enjoying every moment of his pain and torment – and there was a glint of anticipation in his eyes that threatened far, far worse to come. Unbidden, a whimper escaped him. It only prompted a wider smile to appear on his captor's face.

"I didn't think I'd be able to trust you to keep quiet," he muttered, in the same low and dangerous tone. "It's a good thing I came prepared, isn't it?"

Jesse was abruptly released and he gasped in a breath, watching warily as the other man headed to the front of the van and retrieved something from one of the seats. Jesse wondered if he dared cry out. They were still parked outside the hospital and there was a chance that someone might have been passing by. But it was a slim chance – the lot they were in was largely unused – and he was too afraid of the consequences should he try.

His brief, internal argument was futile anyway. His captive left him alone for only the scantest seconds – and then returned holding a roll of heavy duty duct tape. Jesse could see what he had in mind and tried to squirm away. It was never going to work. The other man towered over him and possessed a terrifying strength. He easily pinned Jesse and held him immobile. A moment later, the young doctor was firmly gagged.

* * *

Liddell took a step back and surveyed his handiwork, not even trying to hide his amusement at the way the situation was panning out. Bound, gagged and with his shirt half open, it was easy to see how his captive had totally misinterpreted his intentions.

Travis honestly thought that he'd kidnapped him in order to have his wicked way with him. Liddell chuckled softly, noting how the younger man flinched even at the most innocuous of sounds.

It didn't matter that he found the very idea of going with another man completely repulsive; it didn't matter that he had never forced sex on anyone and wasn't about to start. It was what Travis believed and his utter terror was holding him paralysed – and keeping him meek and subdued. Liddell was quite happy for him to go on believing whatever he chose.

He smirked and reached out to snag another shirt button – easily popping it open. The bound man moaned in horror. His eyes closed and he turned his face into the side of the van. Liddell's chuckle became all out laughter. Travis was literally trembling with fear and the tears, that he had fought so hard to suppress, now stained his cheeks. He reached out towards those tear tracks – watching with sadistic delight as the bound man tried to shrink even further away, only to be stopped by the unyielding metal against which he was trapped. He stopped his hand a hairsbreadth away from the pale cheek.

"Not yet," he whispered, injecting the hint of a promise into his voice.

As reluctant as he was to do so, Liddell backed away from his captive. This wasn't the right place. Though it was mostly deserted, it was too close to main roads and public places and he didn't want to risk anyone happening upon them.

He had plenty of time. There were still hours to spare before he had to deliver their guinea pig that night. He had plans for the young doctor; plans that he intended to take his time over and savour.

* * *

Jesse sensed rather than felt the man moving away from him – finally backing out from his personal space that had been so invaded. Mustering his courage, he cracked his eyes open and almost sagged with relief when he saw his captor with his back to him. He was clambering awkwardly into the front seat of the van.

The young doctor knew that his ordeal was far from over, but he inwardly thanked God that it had, at least, been postponed for the immediate future. His legs gave out on him then, as his fear-induced adrenaline quickly faded, and he slid down the side of the van and collapsed into an uncomfortable crouch.

His movement came just in time, as the van's engine suddenly came to life. The gentle acceleration that followed was enough to throw him off balance. He fell to the floor, his right shoulder taking the brunt of the impact – but it would have been so much worse had he still been standing.

Trying hard to bite down on his panic – his terror – and concentrate on breathing through his nose, Jesse curled himself up into a ball, drawing his knees up close to his chest. It offered minimal protection and he was helpless against the motion of the van, but it was all that he had.

He had no idea where he was being taken, but could only too easily imagine what was going to happen when they got there. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him, but he ruthlessly swallowed down the bile that rushed to fill his throat – even though a small part of him questioned whether it would be preferable to choke to death than to meekly await the fate that undoubtedly lay in store. But he wasn't the type to simply give up – to lie down and die. Life had thrown him some pretty hard knocks over the years and he had always, somehow, managed to survive. That was largely due to the help and support of his friends – at least it had been in recent years.

But even as a child when he had often had to fend for himself, he had learned that there was always hope:

Bullies had targeted him on his very first day at high school, thinking him an obvious victim because of his slight stature and the fact that he came from a broken home. He never stood a chance against them. Then salvation had come in the most unlikely of forms. A stocky boy in a football kit – his face concealed by the protective guard of his helmet, and backed up by two other similarly attired friends – had quickly sent the bullies fleeing. When Jesse had looked up at his saviour, his eyes full of gratitude and curiosity, the boy had grinned and removed his helmet.

"Been trying to catch up with you all morning, Jess. Mom told me you were starting here today."

In the dark confines of the van, Jesse took a small comfort from the memory. He might have griped on occasion – but that was down to the pressure his mom had always put on him to be more like the man that boy had become – but his cousin, Morty, had been his hero from that day onwards.

And in the glimmer of that memory, he felt the first faint stirring of hope. He had never expected to be saved on that fateful day and he could see no chance of salvation here. But he no longer felt the urge to simply give up. He still had friends who cared about him – and miracles had been known to happen before.

TBC…


	12. Trance 12

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Many, many thanks to those who have taken the time to review so far.**

TRANCE.

Part Twelve.

"Has Jesse called you yet?" Amanda was taking a break from her work. A nagging sense of unease still surrounded her where Jesse was concerned and she wouldn't feel any better until she knew that he had spoken to his friends and quelled his insecurities from earlier in the day.

"_No, why?"_ Steve's answer set her butterflies fluttering anew_. "Should he have?"_

Amanda scowled to herself. It had been more than an hour since Jesse had left the hospital – and he'd said that he was going to call the moment that he retrieved his cellphone. "He said he was going to," she answered into the growing silence. "And he said he's definitely calling round for dinner tonight."

"_Did he mention a time?"_

"No. I figured you'd arrange that when he called." She could picture him glancing at his watch as she spoke. "Maybe he decided to get showered and changed first."

"_Yeah, maybe." _He didn't sound convinced and Amanda realised that she wasn't the only one to be worried about their young friend's behaviour of late. _"Amanda, what time did you talk to him?"_

"Over an hour ago." Her concern had grown again and she couldn't keep it out of her voice. "Steve…"

"_I'll give him a call." _Correctly guessing how she would interpret his words, he hastily added: _"Just to see what time we can expect him over. Are you sure you can't make it?"_

"I wish I could." And she genuinely did. She wanted to see Jesse outside of the hospital, to see for herself that he really was alright and that it was only stress making him act so oddly. "I'll see what time I finish up here."

* * *

He was all out of miracles. Jesse realised that when the van drew gently to a halt and the engine was killed. He hadn't stopped struggling throughout the relatively short journey – he estimated that they had been travelling for about twenty minutes – but those struggles had proven to be futile.

He had no chance of freeing himself from the handcuffs – and trying had only served to rub his wrists painfully raw. Instead, he'd focused on trying to remove the gag. He figured that if his captor opened one of the doors, even for a second, then he would at least have the chance to call for help. He rubbed his face against the floor of the van, trying to dislodge the suffocating tape; to loosen even one corner of it to give himself something to work with. It was uncomfortable, it was painful at times and it was also impossibly slow going. Every time the van rounded even the gentlest of curves, he rolled with it. Then he was forced to get back into position and try all over again.

Then time ran out and he had made barely any progress. Scant seconds later, it became apparent that it wouldn't have mattered even if he had succeeded. None of the doors were opened. Instead, the big man clambered back between the seats and stalked towards where Jesse helplessly lay.

The young doctor squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath. It did little to slow his racing heartbeat, nor calm the terror churning in his gut. But he was determined not to give up without a fight; not to let his captor do whatever the hell he wanted while he lay quiescently; not to be a victim.

The big man's tread was surprisingly light, but Jesse could still hear it. He tensed and then, when he felt the first brush of a hand against the fabric of his shirt, he struck.

It was the last thing that Liddell expected. His captive had lain so submissively throughout the drive. By the time that they stopped – and with nothing to do in that time but fear his fate – Liddell had expected him to be a wreck.

Armed with the three items that he needed for the next round of his game, he applied no caution as he approached his prey. He reached down, intending to finish off opening the bound man's shirt. Suddenly he was stumbling backwards, sharp pain racing through his thigh, where it had been caught by a solid blow from a booted foot.

"Goddammit!" The curse was out before he could prevent it. He would never have willingly given Travis the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt him.

He reacted instinctively – throwing himself at his captive, who had somehow managed to scramble to his feet and was lurching towards the rear doors of the van. Those doors were locked, but it was a simple enough mechanism. Even with his hands bound, it would have been possible for the doctor to manipulate it – but Liddell was not going to give him that chance. He tackled his prey at waist height, swinging him away from the doors and wrestling him face first to the ground.

The henchman ended up on top – and knowing the terror that had provoked Travis into reacting so desperately, decided to give him real reason to be afraid. The wind had been knocked out of the smaller man and Liddell took full advantage of the fact. Shifting his weight, he straddled the smaller man's thighs and dragged his jacket back off his shoulders and down his arms. Travis began to squirm and a sound – unmistakably a protest – was audible in spite of the gag.

Liddell ignored both actions. Reaching back upwards, he took hold of the doctor's shirt collar with both hands. Then, with one hefty downwards tug, he tore it from his back.

The reaction he got was extreme. The body beneath him bucked wildly and a flailing leg dealt him a hefty blow in the small of his back. Again taken by surprise by the hidden strength in his captive's compact frame, Liddell was almost completely unbalanced. He recovered quickly, even as Travis tried to squirm free the moment that his weight shifted. He brought his closed fist slamming down into the exposed back beneath him – directly over his kidneys. It was a blow that he knew was cripplingly painful.

A smile of grim satisfaction crossed his features as Travis stiffened in agony and then slumped. Then his eyes hardened. His captive had almost escaped him. He had even managed to hurt him twice – and that was unacceptable. Liddell was the only one supposed to be inflicting pain. The kid definitely needed to be taught a lesson. A second brutal blow followed the first, landing in the exact same spot – and the brief, one-sided fight was over.

The bound man's sides were heaving as he desperately tried to draw breath into his abused body. Leaning forwards, Liddell could see tears seeping out from behind tightly closed eyelids. His sadistic smile returned.

"Tears already, Jesse?" He chuckled softly, humourlessly. "There were tears the last time as well, but you wouldn't remember that." He trailed his fingers lazily down his captive's bared spine – feeling him shudder beneath the touch that was almost a caress.

He stilled his hand over the area that his punches had landed. The bruise they left would be spectacular. Liddell scowled to himself. His employers would not be pleased, should they find out. They had told him not to mark him in any way. But it was too late for that now. His scowl transformed itself into a smirk. He really didn't give a damn about what Hendrickson and Yoshimoto thought – and he didn't even particularly care about the money. His kind of 'work' paid well and he had already received the majority of his fee up front. It wouldn't bankrupt him if he forfeited the rest.

He could still make their guinea pig mostly presentable before delivering him later on that evening. There was nothing he could do about the bruise on his face that was already beginning to darken his cheek, from where it had impacted against the side of the van. But he'd think of something to explain that away easily enough. And, if the two men suspected there was something more going on – well, they both knew that Liddell was a very dangerous man. He didn't think they'd give him any trouble.

His only concern at present was the fact that he had dropped his 'tools' when Travis had made his desperate escape attempt. Looking quickly around, he soon saw them all lying close together. He didn't even have to stretch very far to retrieve them.

Three items – that was all that he needed. A penknife, a cigarette lighter and a TASER; the type many women carried in their handbags to ward off potential attackers. Once he was armed with these, Liddell focussed his attention solely on the bound man before him. With practised ease, he rolled him onto his back.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice soft but still unmistakably dangerous.

His victim didn't move; gave no indication that he had even heard him. Liddell sighed with thinly veiled impatience. He had seen this before; had seen people attempt to shut down, to block out what was happening to them. He didn't like it when that happened. He liked his victims to be awake and aware. He repeated his command.

When nothing happened for a second time, he smiled thinly. Now the fun was really going to begin. He flicked a switch and the TASER sparked into life.

* * *

All of the fight had been knocked out of Jesse. The two vicious punches that he'd received had left him broken and hurting and barely able to move. Pain radiated constantly from the site and he couldn't prevent tears of agony from sliding down his cheeks.

He had tried to escape and he'd been close – damned close. If only his timing hadn't been slightly off. His captor wouldn't have been able to recover so quickly and he certainly wouldn't have been able to carry out any form of sexual assault. Jesse's kick had forced a cry of pain from the man, but it hadn't been enough. He had intended it to be more crippling than that – he hadn't been aiming for his thigh.

It was too late for regrets now. The big man's size and strength had quickly won out and a mere two blows had rendered him immobile. Then the shirt had been torn from his back and that was the moment he had retreated inside himself, seeking some place to hide from the pain that already consumed him and that which he knew would soon follow. He wanted to be sick, but knew that he would choke if that happened – and he didn't think that the man who held him would overly care if he did.

He barely felt the hands that reached out to roll him onto his back; his only awareness being a renewed flare of agony from where he had been hit. The inconsistency with what he feared was about to happen to him never even registered to his traumatised senses.

"_I'm strong, I can survive this," _he thought frantically to himself. _"So long as he doesn't kill me, I can get through this. I can be strong. Please God, don't let him kill me. Please God, let me be strong."_

He repeated his desperate prayer over and over, struggling to hold on to his inner strength; a strength that had seen him through diversity in the past; a strength that had to sustain him now because it was all that he had. He never heard the soft voice that commanded him to open his eyes, never heard when that order was repeated, but suddenly he was engulfed in white hot agony – agony of such intensity that it brought his back arching up off the floor and made his earlier pain pale in comparison.

* * *

Liddell grinned as he held the TASER just below his victim's ribcage, applying a constant electrical charge as the bound man's back arched upwards and he instinctively tried to twist away from the pain. Those pathetic efforts were never going to be successful and Liddell didn't even break a sweat as he easily followed those movements. And he didn't remove his thumb from the trigger until agonised and terrified blue eyes flew open to stare up at him.

"That's better," he smirked now that he, once again, had the young man's full attention. He stopped the agonising flow of current. "Now, I was telling you about the last time, but you don't remember the last time, do you?" He didn't bother waiting for a response of any kind, as long as those eyes remained locked on his. "No, of course you don't. The last time, they pumped so many drugs in you it's a wonder you didn't end up addicted." He chuckled softly. "And wouldn't that have been ironic?"

He placed the TASER within easy reach of his left hand and instead picked up his penknife. It was an expensive knife – the fancy kind that had various blades, a bottle opener, a corkscrew and even a little gizmo for getting stones out of horses' hooves – not that he ever envisaged needing such a thing. At least not for the purpose for which it was designed.

"I didn't scar you back then, either," he continued in the same conversational tone, deciding to start things off simply and selecting a standard knife blade. "Of course, that was all much more sophisticated. They provided all of the tools." Next he picked up the cigarette lighter and idly thumbed the wheel that had it flickering to life. He held both items where Jesse could see them quite clearly. "Nothing quite so primitive back then." Slowly, deliberately, he brought the blade to the flame. "But still, I wonder if this will jog your memory at all." Liddell twisted the knife blade slowly in the flickering flame. "I'm sure that it will. I can't believe that you could truly forget such intense pain." The metal was beginning to glow. "Pain that made you scream so loudly, pain that made you beg."

He smiled down at the frightened face below him. Wide blue eyes were flicking back and forth between his eyes and the knife blade. Tremors shook the slender frame and sweat stood out on his brow. Seeing such fear was almost as satisfying as seeing the pain. Almost, but not quite.

"You won't be begging this time, Jesse." He turned his narrowed eyes back to the blade, which was verging on red hot. "You won't even be screaming." His smile widened. "No matter how much you want to."

Moving swiftly and not giving his victim even the chance to flinch away, he pressed the flat of the blade directly onto his collarbone. He thought he might have heard it hiss, where the hot metal came into contact with cold sweat, but he couldn't be sure. The sound – if there was one – coincided with a muffled cry that was torn from the young doctor. He threw his head back with such force that it connected sharply with the floor of the van, but he had already been lying down and the impact was not enough to render him unconscious.

Revelling in the sight, Liddell twisted the knife to an angle, so that the sharp edge bit into tender skin. Another cry followed, muffled and hoarse – but a cry nonetheless. He applied a little more pressure, watching as a trickle of blood escaped from the wound, the blade not hot enough to cauterise it.

"Maybe a scar or two this time, Jesse." He scored the cooling knife across previously unblemished skin, leaving a thin trail of red in its wake. "After all, I doubt that we're fated ever to meet again – and I need you to have something to remember me by."

* * *

Jesse struggled to comprehend the words that he was hearing. Fire consumed every part of him and the agony was unremitting – sending any attempt of coherent thought fleeing to the furthest recesses of his mind as he sought some place to escape from the pain.

There was no escape. There was only the agony burning through him, flaring with each movement that he made and reflected in the eyes of the madman who held him. He could see something else in those eyes – something that chilled him to his very core and terrified him even more than the sight of the glowing knife blade descending towards his unprotected body. It was something that went beyond sadism – beyond a sick enjoyment of inflicting this pain on him. It was a cruelty that seemed to reach into his very soul.

The man was inherently evil. He didn't possess an ounce of compassion or mercy – or even humanity. He was the kind of man who, as a child, would have ripped the legs off insects and then watched to see how long it took them to die. The way that he was looking at Jesse made him feel as though he was the subject of exactly such an experiment.

Fresh fire scraped along his collarbone and he wanted to scream out his pain, but it remained firmly trapped behind the gag across his mouth until he felt as though he might choke on it.

Then the knife was, once again, brought back up into his field of vision. Jesse sagged in relief. Though the pain still burned, at least the torture had stopped. However, his relief was agonisingly short-lived. With a sneer of utter malice, his captor folded the knife blade away and instead selected another implement.

Jesse almost passed out – and then fervently wished that he could – as the lighter again flared into life, this time heating up the sharpened tip of a corkscrew.

* * *

"I've often wondered how you managed to rationalise it all to yourself," Liddell mused as he idly played the flame across the twisted piece of metal. "Oh, I know you uncovered the conspiracy eventually – but how did you ever come to terms with those five days; with the marks that I left on your body? Even though you'll never remember, deep down you must know that I did some bad things to you."

He glanced downwards, primarily to ensure that he did not yet have to give Travis another blast of the TASER. Then he grinned. There was something new emerging in the terrified blue eyes – something that he had almost been longing to see. Realisation was beginning to dawn and, with it, was – not quite recognition – but at least the horrified acknowledgement that they had encountered one another before.

"I wasn't one of the hoax aliens, Jesse," he continued, in a low and threatening voice. "I wasn't a hallucination or some drug induced paranoid fantasy. I was real." He watched dispassionately as the young man fought an obvious internal battle with himself, being forced to remember events that he'd sooner forget. "Five whole days," he continued, nastily. "And I remember every single moment. We spent a lot of time together back then and I learnt a lot about torture from you." The blade had heated up nicely. "Such as how far you can go before a man will lose consciousness." He pushed the hot metal in between the bottom two ribs and held it there as his victim again stiffened in agony. That one would leave an interesting scar.

TBC…


	13. Trance 13

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**So, nothing like a little torture to get the reviews rolling in, huh? Many thanks everyone.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirteen.

_Perris Pharmaceuticals. _Jesse had thought that he had come to terms with his ordeal at their hands. With the help of his friends, he had gradually come to accept that those five days when he had been missing would forever be lost to him. In all honesty, he was happy for it to stay that way too. He had known that he'd been hurt – and he had no great desire to relive the pain that he must have been in.

The psychological effects had been harder to get over. It wasn't just that he'd been made to look a fool – ranting about alien abductions and Government conspiracies. It had been the complete lack of faith that he'd demonstrated in his friends. He had pushed them away and then he had run away, instead of turning to them for the help that he so badly needed – and that he knew they would have been only too willing to provide.

Now his captor's cruel words were reverberating around his brain and forcing those unpleasant memories to the surface. It was a distraction from the pain, but Jesse couldn't even be thankful for that small mercy. The emotional trauma was equally as devastating as the physical: lashing out at those who were only trying to help him; being manipulated by cryptic words of a stranger; falling so neatly into the trap that had been set for him. Then came the humiliating newspaper article and having to face the ridicule of colleagues he had previously held in the highest esteem.

He had thought that he'd got over it – he'd genuinely believed that – but it seemed that the memories lurked more closely to the surface than he'd realised. And they still had the power to hurt him.

Suddenly, he was dragged rudely and painfully back to the present, as his torturer closed in on him again.

* * *

Jesse's cellphone was, once again, switched off and Steve was becoming heartily sick of the sound of his voicemail message. He felt as though he knew it by heart. It was close to seven o'clock in the evening and – according to Amanda – Jesse had left the hospital three hours previously, promising that he was going to call the beach house to arrange a time for dinner. Steve was still awaiting that call. 

It was also getting harder and harder to pretend that everything was alright – and to keep his growing concern from his father. He had gone down to his apartment to place the latest call, in an effort to do just that. The message that he left on the voicemail service was curt – to say the least – but he was growing increasingly irritated by his friend's behaviour. He had never known Jesse to be so irresponsible.

As he emerged from his apartment and made his way back up the stairs, he tried to push that irritation to one side. His dad could be frighteningly perceptive at times and he really didn't want to give him reason to worry.

It was a valiant effort, but it was always going to be unsuccessful.

"So, do you have any idea what time we're going to be eating yet?" Mark asked – and Steve just had to give him his due. He was trying hard to remain calm, to not get worked up about their errant friend, or do anything else that might jeopardise his health. And that only served to fan the embers of anger that Steve was trying so hard to keep in check.

"No, dad," he answered eventually. "I guess we should maybe go ahead and eat without him. We could always keep something hot, or maybe warm it up when he does get here." Seeing the frown that settled on Mark's face, he sought a viable excuse for Jesse's absence. "It looks like he must have got… caught up with something."

"Steve, I know you don't want me to worry and I'm doing my best not to, but I can't shake the feeling that Jesse's in some kind of trouble." His expression was clearly unhappy. "I'd just feel a whole lot better if I could talk to him."

"Me too, dad." Steve offered him a reassuring smile. "I'll tell you what: if he hasn't called in another hour, I'll swing by his place and try to find out what's going on."

* * *

Jesse was a doctor and, as such, he knew just how frail the human body was. He also knew that it could endure a seemingly impossible amount of punishment before it eventually gave out. He had seen wounds, that appeared to be mortal, treated and repaired – and the patients going on to make a full recovery. He had never expected that he would learn first hand just how resilient the human body could be. 

At the very least, he should have been unconscious. His mind should have shut down in an attempt to save him from the utter agony that was coursing through him. It was a simple defence mechanism, to spare him unbearable suffering. But it was denied to him.

He no longer knew – or cared – what particular implement was being used on him. They all hurt equally. The burns, the cuts, the ruthless efficiency with which he was tortured – inflicting only surface injuries, barely penetrating the skin, but leaving him writhing in utter torment.

Another flare of agony spiked in his right arm and he was unable to prevent tears from seeping out behind tightly closed eyelids. He honestly believed that he had reached the end of his endurance – that he could suffer no more without succumbing to the darkness that he was praying would come and claim him. He was wrong. Sudden electricity raced through his side, jerking his body from the floor and forcing his eyes open. His captor grinned down at him.

"What did they do to you when they took you away from me, Jesse?" The big man asked.

Jesse could only stare fearfully up at him. He obviously wasn't expected to answer, but he couldn't even comprehend the question. The lighter was burning again. He could see it in the periphery of his vision.

"What did they do when they were instilling the alien abduction into you? How did they make you believe it?" He chuckled softly, maliciously. "I mean, doesn't everyone know what aliens do to their abductees? The experiments? The _probes_?"

Jesse's breath was coming in short terrified gasps. Now he had something that had pushed his continuing agony to the back of his mind – but he would have infinitely preferred the pain to the easy interpretation of what his captor had been insinuating.

His mind was screaming in denial. Mark had promised that he hadn't been sexually assaulted. It had taken him days to even ask the question – he had been so terrified of the answer. Then he had feared the shame and the humiliation and, ultimately, the pity when he had taken his fears to his mentor. But none of those things had been forthcoming. Instead he found gentle compassion and understanding.

When Mark had solemnly promised him that – though he had been physically hurt and put through the emotional wringer, he hadn't been violated in the most demeaning of ways – Jesse had wept with relief. His nightmares had been filled by the images of what might have happened to him – and that particular one had been haunting him more and more until he had begun to be terrified that it was true.

Now Mark's gentle words had been cast into doubt, by the monster who was tormenting him so cruelly. And his torture still wasn't over. The flickering lighter flame was brought into his field of vision – and there was no way that he could avoid looking at it.

His terror swelled into sheer, raw panic and he frantically – futilely – tried to back away when he saw that, this time, it was heating up the blade of a screwdriver.

* * *

Liddell watched with utter glee as the last light of reason fled from his captive's eyes. That was the reaction he'd been striving for – the descent into pure, unadulterated and sheer terror. The loss of rational thought, of any form of lucidity because the horror was all-consuming. And it had all been done by mere words. The physical pain had been an added bonus – and had helped to feed his fear – but, in the end, it had been those words that had broken him. 

He had reached inside his captive's soul and found his deepest, darkest fear: the fear of the unknown; of those missing days and of what horrors might have been inflicted on him; and of what might yet occur. True torture – that which went beyond the mere inflicting of pain – was an art form. And it was an art form that he had well and truly mastered.

Almost unconsciously, he continued heating the screwdriver. There was no point in wasting the implement and the blade was heating up nicely. But, in reality, he knew that the game was over.

Travis was trying to scramble away from him, his feet seeking purchase against the metal floor – but there was nowhere for him to go and his efforts were feeble and pathetic. Liddell stopped them by closing one large hand around his throat. He waited until blue eyes cracked open and then – staring deeply into those orbs – pressed the burning screwdriver hard against the flat of his stomach. Sudden agony dominated his expression and his entire body went rigid. Then those eyes rolled back in their sockets and Travis went limp as, finally, unconsciousness claimed him.

This time, Liddell did nothing to rouse him.

* * *

Half an hour later, Liddell began to feel the first stirrings of regret that he had got so enthusiastic with his captive. He had left the young doctor bound and unconscious in the back of the van whilst he had driven to the house where he knew Hendrickson and Yoshimoto would be waiting. Then he had done what he could to hide the evidence of the torture that he'd inflicted. 

The shirt was ruined, but he drew it back up over his victim's shoulders and then securely fastened his jacket to hide its raggedness. He also replaced the handcuffs with duct tape – effectively hiding the self-inflicted wounds caused by Travis's desperate attempts to escape. Then he removed the gag, remembering how his employers had been concerned about the dangers of suffocation and not wanting that fate to occur in the back of his rented van.

None of it had made a great deal of difference. The young man still looked absolutely dreadful. His skin was deathly pale and covered with a heavy sheen of clammy sweat; the bruise on his temple – where it had connected with the side of the van – stood out in stark relief, darkening spectacularly and swelling around one eye. There was no way he could disguise that – he would just have to come up with some viable excuse.

The one thing he couldn't excuse, however, was his captive's insentient state. Slapping his face hadn't worked, though Liddell hadn't hit him too hard – not wanting to add to the marks that were already in evidence. Shaking him had also failed to rouse him. The blue eyes had remained steadfastly closed. Now, with his eight o'clock deadline upon him, the thug smiled grimly to himself. He hadn't wanted to resort to torture again – not when he couldn't follow it through. And he'd already had his fun for that day. But he was left with little choice. He withdrew the TASER from his pocket and flicked it to life.

It was crude, but effective. The young man's eyes shot open as the electrical charge jolted through him. Liddell smiled nastily as those eyes – that had been groggy with pain – suddenly flooded with fear.

He was expecting another round of torture and that look was exactly what Liddell had been trying to avoid. He hated to disappoint. But now he was out of time and any further torment – even the mental kind – was out of the question. He had to try and bluff his employers and that was going to be hard enough, without creating any further problems.

"You really need to pull yourself together, kid," he muttered, hauling the unresisting form to its feet. Once he was upright, he regarded him critically and then shook his head. He had to think of his excuses – and fast. Travis was well and truly broken.

The young man was looking decidedly dishevelled and his entire demeanour was one of defeat – and there was also no mistaking the pain that shone from his glassy eyes.

Having no time to come up with any kind of a viable plan, Liddell decided that he would just have to play things by ear. He wasn't concerned about anything his employers might do to him, should they suspect what he'd done. He had a feeling that they wouldn't be too difficult to intimidate. He was more concerned that he would be fired – and thus miss the finale of what had been a very entertaining episode.

Though his sole reason for involvement had transformed from money to the sheer pleasure of, again, tormenting Jesse Travis – he found that he was curious as to how things were going to play out.

* * *

The clock at the beach house struck eight o'clock. 

"It's been an hour, Steve," Mark commented, quietly. In spite of his best efforts to prevent it, his worry had been growing with each passing minute.

"I know," his son responded, glowering at the timepiece as though it was the cause of all his woes.

"He should have been here by now; or at least should have called." He tried to keep his tone calm, but couldn't hide his concern.

"I know that, too, dad." Steve wasn't being deliberately difficult, but he was trying to calm himself down before he could even consider driving to Jesse's. He had spent the past hour with his eyes constantly straying towards the phone – willing it to ring before the deadline expired. It had remained stubbornly silent. And, now that the set hour had passed, he was regretting having so impulsively said that he'd go looking for their missing friend.

He didn't want to leave his father alone. He never said those words aloud because he knew he'd never be able to explain his reasons why. It was a gut instinct, telling him that all was not well. And Steve knew to trust such instincts – they had been known to save his life on occasion.

"Steve?"

His dad's voice was pensive, Steve noted. There was definitely something in the air; something that they had both picked up on. It made him even less willing to leave.

Aware that the silence was stretching – and that his dad was looking at him, expecting him to make some sort of a move – Steve got to his feet.

"I think I'll just try calling him again, first," he muttered. Then he headed down the stairs towards his apartment, before Mark could respond.

He didn't know why he chose to use that phone, instead of the one in the lounge. Maybe a small part of him even considered lying to his father – of saying that Jesse had answered and was too ill or too tired to call around and that he hadn't been answering the phone for the same reason. Anything to keep him safely in the house and to quiet the sense of foreboding that he simply couldn't shake. But then, as he listened to both Jesse's home and cellphones go unanswered, he knew that it wasn't a viable option.

For one thing, recuperating or not, his dad would never buy such a lie. For another, Steve himself didn't like unanswered questions – and there were just too many of those surrounding their young friend of late. He knew that he would be unable to get a good night's sleep until he started finding those answers.

Slamming the phone down in utter frustration, Steve snatched up his car keys and stormed back up the stairs. He nodded a farewell to his father – but his raging emotions must still have been evident on his face, because the older man's voice stopped him before he could make it through the front door.

"Steve, if you do catch up with Jesse – at least give him the chance to explain."

The detective took a deep breath and then released it slowly. He nodded, as he allowed a rueful smile to cross his face. His dad could read him so easily – and always knew exactly what to say to him. He silently thanked God for his presence in his life – and tried not to think about what he would do if he ever lost him.

TBC…


	14. Trance 14

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Just so you all know, this is going to be a VERY long fic and it's still very much a WIP. All questions will (I hope) be answered… Eventually… Many thanks for the reviews everyone.**

TRANCE.

Part Fourteen.

"Dear Lord…"

"What the hell happened to him?"

As Liddell had anticipated, the first reaction of both of his employers had bordered on outrage. Travis did look something of a wreck – even with the majority of his wounds safely hidden from view. He was unresponsive, bordering on catatonic and wouldn't have even been able to stand if it weren't for the firm grip that the henchman kept on his arm. But he was ready for such a reaction and had planned accordingly. Just because the majority of his 'work' depended on his brawn, it didn't necessarily follow that he was totally lacking in brains.

His excuses had come to him as he had dragged his unresisting prisoner in through the garage door of the rented house that was their meeting place that night.

In response to the two doctors' demanding looks, he shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

"I figured you'd been messing with his mind a bit too much." Neither his voice nor his eyes betrayed the lie. In his line of work, he'd had practice enough.

"What are you talking about?" Hendrickson's reply was sharp and suspicious. "It's not possible that he can remember anything."

"I'm not saying that he remembered." Liddell shoved his captive over to where Yoshimoto stood, religiously adhering to their routine. "He was fine when I first saw him – but when he saw me…"

"He cannot possibly know who you are."

"That may well be, Doc." The henchman mentally applauded himself on his own flawless performance. He had one doctor on the defensive and that was as good a start as he'd have dared to hope for. "But take a look at his face. He did that when he passed clean out. He's been like this ever since."

"Then perhaps your technique is not quite as perfect as you led me to believe." Yoshimoto spoke up then, eying his partner in crime with something akin to distaste. He had noted the bruise on their captive's face. "Perhaps he is not as 'under' as he has led you to believe."

"My _technique,_ as you put it, is unrivalled and infallible. Perhaps it is your as yet untested drug that has caused the damage."

As Yoshimoto bristled at the subtle insult to his professionalism, Liddell smiled in satisfaction. His past history and his instincts had served him well. He had strongly suspected that the two doctors had somewhat shady pasts – and they had just confirmed his suspicions. There was nothing like a criminal background to hone a man's sense of paranoia.

"So what now?" Liddell drawled, his voice cutting through the tension that had grown between his employers.

The Japanese doctor glanced at him, sharply and he realised that maybe his possible involvement in their current dilemma had not been totally discounted. He also knew that Yoshimoto's pride would not allow him to voice his suspicions aloud – not after the accusation that had just been flung at him. He gave the minutest of shrugs, letting his employer have the victory, without actually admitting to anything. He knew that words would be said at some later time but, for now, Yoshimoto's ego would not allow him to back down from Hendrickson.

"Now, I suppose we should see just what damage has been done." It was Hendrickson who replied – albeit somewhat grudgingly. He was so close to achieving his goal – his revenge – that he was not prepared to let anything stand in his way. "This might be a purely physical reaction, caused by the subconscious. Give him the shot, Hero. Until we know for certain what is causing this, then I say that we stick to our schedule."

"Your thirst for revenge is blinding you," the other doctor replied, even as he removed the cap from his syringe. "You are jeopardising everything that we have worked for."

"And it's too late to try and start again from scratch." Hendrickson smiled nastily. "Just think of the money, Hero. After all, that's the only reason that you're here."

"And retribution is so much more noble a motive." Yoshimoto's response was spoken mostly to himself, but he did as he was directed and plunged the needle into their victim's arm.

* * *

This latest invasion of agony was enough to drag Jesse out of his stupor. He had thought that he had known pain before, but he had found a way to escape from it; to shut down his mind and find a place deep inside where he could hide from the ongoing physical and mental torture. 

Now even that place had been invaded and there was nowhere left for him to shelter. The agony that coursed through him burned like fire, searing through his blood and setting his nerve endings shrieking.

But, again, the physical scream that he so longed to release remained locked inside him as he was barely able to even draw breath. He couldn't even comprehend why he fought so hard for that breath – the agony was unremitting and surely it would be better to just give up; to do anything to just make it stop.

Then the burning grip on his bicep was briefly relinquished and he felt himself falling, his trembling legs unable to support even his slight weight. He curled his knees up towards his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible, but it didn't ease his pain even slightly. He was trapped by it as it pervaded his very soul.

And he was totally unaware of the three pairs of eyes that stared dispassionately down at him.

* * *

Five minutes of knocking as hard as he could on Jesse's front door had produced no discernible result, except for leaving Steve with a sore hand. That didn't improve his mood in the slightest. 

Having been somewhat calmed by his father's words as he left the beach house, his irritation had returned when he'd pulled up outside Jesse's apartment block. The young doctor's Mustang hadn't been in its usual spot – and he had fleetingly wondered what the odds were that they might have passed each other going in opposite directions. He only allowed the thought to distract him for the briefest moment, knowing that if Jesse did show up at the beach house then Mark would call him. Then he would go home and cheerfully murder his best friend, for having him run around on a wild goose chase all evening.

So far, his phone had remained silent though – so Steve brushed aside his curiosity over the missing car and entered the complex.

Five minutes later – and nursing a sore hand – Steve dug into his pocket for the spare key that Jesse had given him. He was a little reluctant to just let himself into the apartment, but he could see that he had very little choice. If Jesse wasn't going to answer his phones or his door, then it was his own fault that Steve was being forced to take such drastic action.

As he turned the key in the lock, the bad feeling that had plagued him all evening returned with full force. His movements became more cautious and he took a moment to open his jacket – giving him easy access to his gun. He didn't draw it, but he was ready to do so in a moment's notice as he slowly swung the door open.

Even exercising the utmost caution, it didn't take Steve long to ascertain that there was no-one home. In fact, it looked as though Jesse had not been home at all that day. There was a pile of mail on his mat and a half empty cup of long-cold coffee on the table. A dried in stain on the carpet – where it looked like some of that coffee had been spilt – attested to how long it had been there.

The state of Jesse's apartment had brought a frown to Steve's face. While his friend wasn't exactly the greatest housekeeper, he was far from slovenly. The mess that Steve encountered seemed uncharacteristic. And it had been the same in every room. The sink in the kitchenette had been full of unwashed dishes; clothes were strewn about the bedroom and the bed itself was unmade; dirty towel were dumped on the bathroom floor and the clothes hamper had been full to overflowing with dirty laundry.

He knew that Jesse had been working hard but, according to Amanda, he hadn't been putting in any more than his regular hours. And he hadn't been spending all of his free time at Bob's, either. There really was no reason for such a mess. But nor was that any indication of foul play – though that realisation did nothing to ease Steve's unsettled nerves.

His hands on his hips, Steve allowed his gaze to rove around the empty apartment. He didn't look as a concerned friend, but rather as a cop – his finely tuned instincts seeking the merest clue as to what might have befallen Jesse.

There was nothing. He even went so far as to checking Jesse's answer phone messages – of which there were only two – but each time, he only heard his own voice growling through the speakers.

As he replayed those messages, Steve felt the first sliver of guilt stab at his heart. He had been more than a little abrupt with his friend – but now it was beginning to look as though something far more serious than mere forgetfulness was behind the young doctor's absence. But he couldn't even begin to guess what that something might be.

_What if he's had an accident? _The thought struck him like a sledgehammer and he almost collapsed beneath the weight of it. It explained away everything: his doubts, his fears, the unshakable feeling that something was just _wrong._ And if the accident had occurred on Jesse's way home from work, then it would also explain why there had been no contact – not so much as a phone call.

His heart beginning to hammer loudly in his chest, Steve could hardly believe that the possibility hadn't even crossed his mind before now. He'd been too busy trying not to be irritated with his friend, trying to suppress his worry because he wanted to stay firmly focussed on taking care of his dad.

Now he could only silently curse his lapse – and the wasted hours that had been spent waiting for a phone call that his friend might not even have been capable of making. Hours during which he should have been trying to track the young man down; calling hospitals and police stations. Hours that spoke volumes about the severity of the accident should his theory prove to be correct.

But at least he could start doing something to rectify his negligence – regrets wouldn't turn back the clock and prompt him to do things right. Shaking his head to clear sudden, sickening images of what might have befallen his friend, Steve pulled his cellphone from his pocket – and started doing what he should have done more than four hours ago.

* * *

"Whatever it was that was affecting him doesn't seem to have had any lasting effects." Hendrickson/Reed was staring at Jesse, who was – once again – deeply hypnotised. "But his reaction was somewhat… unexpected." 

"That's the trouble with experiments, doc." If Liddell caught any hint of an accusation in his voice, then he gave no indication. "Maybe you should expect the unexpected."

"I could make him tell me." The threat was accompanied by a nasty smile, but Liddell didn't even break eye contact – just returned the look with his own implacable stare.

"Now is not the time to be clouding his mind with trivialities." Yoshimoto's irritated voice cut through the stalemate and his displeasure was apparent in his words. He was growing tired of both Hendrickson and Liddell. And the experiment, that had seemed simple and foolproof, given their own unique skills, was growing more complex by the moment. It had changed from the moment that Hendrickson had revealed his single-minded desire for revenge. Now their 'guinea pig' was not a figure of authority – of renown and respect – as was originally intended: a person whose irrefutable guilt of a murder charge would rock the world. Instead they had ended up with an inconsequential doctor; a doctor who, even in a deeply entranced state, was somehow managing to cause conflict between them. Yoshimoto sighed to himself, wondering how everything had managed to degenerate so quickly.

"Gentlemen," he said, striving for patience. "We have come too far to let anything ruin this now." He raised an eyebrow towards his fellow doctor. "Shouldn't he be ready by now?"

Those words broke the tension and the other man beamed back at him. "And he almost is." His smile faded. "But first, I will need a few minutes alone with him."

Yoshimoto was already feeling paranoid about the way in which things were panning out and this new twist did nothing to alleviate that feeling. Liddell was also looking unhappy with the turn of events, but the Japanese doctor suspected that that had more to do with what might have really happened during the supposedly routine kidnappings – and the vivid bruise that their young captive wore.

"Secrets, Peter?" he asked – and, though he used the other man's given name, there was no friendliness in his voice.

"Yes, indeed." He received two equally surprised looks in response to his words. "Now, now, don't look so shocked. We all have them." He turned towards the henchman: "Mr Liddell, I haven't worked out what your agenda is in all of this, but I am certain that you have one. All I can say on that count is that it better not interfere with our experiment."

"Is that a threat, Doc?" the big man retorted, seeming completely unphased.

"No, it's a promise." Clichéd though the words were, they were spoken in earnest. "Need I remind you that I am at the foremost of my field in mind control? And please don't fall prey to the myth that you cannot hypnotise a person who does not want it to be done. It would take mere seconds to prove you wrong."

"You mess with my head and I swear you'll regret it," Liddell snapped, visibly bristling at the prospect.

"If I messed with your head then there'd be nothing you could do about it." He fixed Liddell with a deliberately patronising smile and then turned his attention to the other man in the room. "And you, Hero," he continued. "As far as I know, you are the only person on this Earth who knows exactly what goes into that… interesting compound that you've been pumping into his veins."

"It is my creation." Yoshimoto didn't dispute the point.

"And so it should remain," he conceded graciously. "However, that is exactly my point. You have both been closely observing my techniques and you could pass that information on to whosoever you choose. Perhaps, Hero, you will decide that you no longer need me – and that is an unacceptable state of affairs."

Again, Yoshimoto chose not to argue. Any denial he made would have been a lie and, though he was adept at schooling his expression, he had no desire to pit his wits against the master hypnotist. And he had already entertained the very notion – privately plotting to seek out a new partner in crime. One who wasn't quite so obsessive.

"And so this final session will be done by me alone – and in private." He fixed the other two men with a steely glare. "Neither of you will know the final trigger and that way, neither of you will be able to betray me."

Liddell shrugged disinterestedly and pushed himself upright from the table he had been slouched against. This was a one shot deal for him and, as soon as it was over, he planned to go back to his preferred form of 'work' – that of inflicting real physical damage as opposed to psychological. In truth, he would have long tired of this job had it not been for Travis's involvement – and having had the chance to take the time out to enjoy his own particular brand of entertainment.

He also knew that he would be unlikely to be offered further work – should their experiment prove to be a success and they moved on to another victim. He had aroused the suspicions of both men.

* * *

Steve paced the confines of Jesse's apartment wondering who else he could possibly call. He had tried all of the hospitals and police stations in the district and was still no closer to finding Jesse. There had been no admittances or arrests of anyone matching his description. There hadn't even been an accident involving a car that was even remotely similar to Jesse's. 

So Steve was at something of a loss. He didn't want to go home – not until he had news of some description. Jesse's vanishing act would only cause his father undue stress – if it hadn't already – and that was something Steve was almost desperate to avoid. But nor did he want to leave Mark on his own for too long. Though the older man seemed well on the road to recovery, Steve was horribly aware of the fact that he might yet suffer a relapse. The heart attack had come without warning and it only figured, to him at least, that any further attack would occur the same way.

The thought of his dad maybe falling and being unable to reach a phone cut through his restless pacing. He had to be moving – to be doing something to track Jesse down. Only then would he be able to return home without having to worry about what he'd say to his dad – because he knew he wouldn't be able to hide the truth from him.

He had one last thing left to try. If Jesse had had an accident, then maybe it hadn't been discovered yet. Or maybe he had hit his head and was wandering around not knowing who he was or where he should be. It was a fanciful theory, at best, but it was all that remained.

Steve locked the apartment behind him. He would follow Jesse's normal route back to the hospital. And, if that failed to locate his missing friend, then he would figure out his next step when he got there.

TBC…


	15. Trance 15

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Sorry… Can only blame work for the delay in updating…**

**Continued thanks for the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Fifteen.

The hypnotist had given no indication of how long his final session with Travis might last. He had merely closed the door behind Liddell and Yoshimoto and then very deliberately locked it.

Yoshimoto seemed to take it all in his stride. They had rented the entire house – it wasn't like they had nowhere to go – and he headed straight for the lounge. Once there, he buried his head in a book.

Instinctively following him, Liddell had intended to linger for only a moment – the silence that he initially got from the Japanese man a clear indication that his company was not welcome. He had thought about putting the TV on, but then realised that such an action would not be appreciated. The book looked as though it required intense concentration. Liddell could not even understand the title and he was by no means a stupid man. He had just turned to leave the room, when Yoshimoto's cultured voice floated over to him.

"You realise that if you had killed him then Doctor Hendrickson – as he chooses to call himself – would have made good on his threats."

"You don't think that's his real name?" Liddell was unnerved by the Japanese man instigating a conversation – something he had never deigned to do before – but he didn't let it show.

"I don't think any of us are who we pretend to be." came the enigmatic response.

"Including you, Doc?" Liddell hid behind his usual flippant exterior.

"Including you, Mr Liddell." The book was laid to one side and indecipherable brown eyes met guarded blue. "A professional – which is how you described yourself and, indeed, were described by others – would not show such a personal interest in his quarry."

"You got it wrong…"

"No, I don't believe that I do." Yoshimoto tilted his head almost imperceptibly to one side. "But nor does it concern me. Our doctor friend, however, does."

"And I take it you're not talking about Travis," Liddell surmised, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the other man.

"Indeed." Yoshimoto was silent for a moment – weighing up the risk that he was about to take and then conceding that it was worth it. "Your agenda is your own, Mr Liddell – though a part of me hopes that you never owned any pets as a child, for however briefly. But the doctor… His intentions are another matter entirely."

"Aren't we all working towards the same goal here?" Liddell was growing uncomfortable with the subject matter – and the intense scrutiny that he was under – and it was not a feeling that he liked.

"I invested into this believing that to be the case," Yoshimoto answered – and his dark gaze turned almost black. "However, now I am not so sure."

"Why not? We kill Mark Sloan and…"

"I forget that you have not been a part of this all along. You have only ever done as we directed." The doctor paused for the slightest beat. "Until, of course, you decided to take matters into your own hands."

This time, Liddell chose not to argue. He was too intrigued as to where the conversation was going to try and protest his false innocence.

"Between us, Doctor Hendrickson and I created the perfect murder weapon. We came to this city to prove its effectiveness; to show those who would pay very handsomely for this weapon just how perfect it was. You, yourself, saw potential in this that I would never have even imagined: to make your enemy the weapon instead of the target; to not restrict ourselves merely to murder. We would have made millions."

"But not now?" Liddell asked, wondering if his actions had been the downfall of that master plan – and, if so, what Yoshimoto intended to do about it. He tensed, half fearing that the man was about to lunge at him with a syringe.

"Not now," Yoshimoto agreed, his expression giving nothing away. "The murder of Mark Sloan would be headline news here in LA – and possibly in the neighbouring states. It might even make the National news – given the man's extraordinary career." He leaned forwards, with sudden intensity. "But Internationally? Who else do you suppose would give a damn?"

Liddell studied the other man for a moment, processing everything that he had just heard. It sounded as though Yoshimoto was hinting at them turning against Hendrickson, but the henchman wasn't about to jump to any conclusions – or take any chances – just yet.

"What, you don't think you'd get enough business right here in the States?" he asked eventually, fishing for further information.

"I don't think we'd get _any _business," Yoshimoto snapped back. "What exactly would we be trying to sell? A doctor killed by another doctor – even if it is his protégé." He paused, questioning with his eyes the accuracy of his last words and knowing that Liddell knew Travis far better than he ever would.

"Former protégé," the henchman corrected, with a slight smirk.

"Close enough. All anyone is going to do is look for a motive. I don't know the exact statistics but most murder victims are killed by someone they know. The murderer of a stranger is so much harder to track down and to justify." Yoshimoto's scowl returned full force. "Our potential buyers won't even realise that _this_ was our experiment – and if we have to go out and explain it to them… Well, that kind of ruins the effect, doesn't it?"

"If it helps, I can promise you that Travis ain't a killer. And, if you pull this off…"

"What Travis is, or is not, is completely irrelevant." Yoshimoto interrupted, his impassiveness momentarily replaced by mild anger. "Nobody knows who he is anyway. He's not the Pope or the President. He's not above suspicion – and, if he kills Sloan, then the police will find a motive; even if they have to create one. And that is where our experiment will fail."

"_When_ it will fail? _If _he kills Sloan?" Liddell repeated, absorbing everything that he had just heard. "You sound like this plan don't stand a chance."

"It doesn't, Mr Liddell." Yoshimoto smiled a shark's smile. "Because you are going to make sure of it."

Liddell forced himself not to react to this latest turn of events. As far as he was concerned, both Yoshimoto and Hendrickson were his employers. He didn't know which one was actually paying him. And, of course, the threats of the hypnotist still lingered at the back of his mind. The thought of being controlled – in the same way that Travis was – filled him with fear. And he was not a man that was used to being afraid.

"Mr Liddell?" Yoshimoto prompted as the silence dragged on. "You have never before struck me as the type of man to be lost for words."

"Took me by surprise there, Doc," the big man admitted. "You wanna tell me why the hell I'd go and do something like that?"

"What is it you would want in return?" The question was greeted with another question. "More money? My guarantee that no harm would come to you? A little while longer alone with Travis – the consequences of which wouldn't matter to anyone?"

And Yoshimoto knew that he'd won. What flared in Liddell's eyes at his final words was only there for the briefest instant – but it had most definitely been there. And it had been pure sadism. Liddell, however, was still a professional and he quickly hid his desire.

"How you gonna guarantee my safety?" he asked, guardedly. "And how much more money you talking about?"

"Enough money to ensure that Hendrickson will never find you, if that's what you require." The Japanese man didn't push the issue of the torture. He was on top and didn't want to provoke the other man. "That would solve everything. But you have a devious mind – and I'm certain you will come up with a plan that will completely absolve you of any blame. Then you could spend the money on whatever you chose." He smiled again, pushing home his advantage. "Besides, Hendrickson needs me. I will ensure that no harm comes to you."

"Yeah, until he decides to hypnotise you and forces you to tell him what's in your little drug." It gave Liddell immense satisfaction to see the fear and uncertainty that suddenly flashed in the normally unflappable man's eyes. It was gone in an instant – and he might even have imagined it – but he savoured the moment anyway.

* * *

Steve's drive to Community General turned out to be completely uneventful. There was very little traffic on the roads, but he still took his time – keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of anything untoward. There was no crash site; no emergency services; no curious onlookers. There wasn't even a skid mark to hint as to what might have befallen his friend.

Then he pulled into the hospital's underground parking lot and realised that his methodical journey had been a waste of time. He parked in the space right next to Jesse's Mustang. Locking his door, he paused for a moment to study his friend's vehicle – but he couldn't see anything wrong with it.

Shaking his head at this latest addition to the mystery, Steve entered the hospital and immediately sought out Amanda. He found her in the pathology lab, working by the light of a single lamp that pooled her desk with illumination but left the rest of the room enshrouded in darkness.

Steve paused for a moment, wondering why she always did that. If it had been him – and given the nature of her work – he would have wanted the entire room lit up like a Christmas tree. Shrugging off the thought, he knocked gently on the doorframe so as not to startle her. Amanda looked up and smiled.

"Hi Steve," she greeted him brightly, but then her smile instantly faded. "Steve? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Jesse." The detective got straight to the point. It was getting late and he was tired and frustrated. It was not the time to beat around the bush.

"Jesse? But he left here…" She glanced at her watch, raising her eyebrows at the lateness of the hour. "He left more than six hours ago. Didn't he show up for dinner?"

"He didn't show, he didn't call and he isn't answering his phone," Steve scowled in response. "He's not at home and he isn't in any morgue, hospital or police station in the area." He ticked the points off on his fingers as he spoke. "And I've just got here to find that his car's still here."

"That's impossible," the pathologist muttered, even as she reached for the phone on her desk. Moments later, the call for Doctor Travis was clearly heard over the tannoy system.

After twenty minutes and almost as many pages, both Steve and Amanda were forced to concede that Jesse – if he was even in the hospital – wasn't going to answer them. They hadn't been able to ascertain whether or not he had actually left, although his shift was long since over, as nobody they spoke to could remember seeing him walk through the door.

But nobody had seen him in a number of hours and the riddle of his car was just another unanswered question to add to their list. In all honesty, neither of them could think of a viable explanation for Jesse's absence – and they were both now growing seriously worried.

Eventually, Steve reluctantly admitted that there was nothing more to keep him at Community General – his best friend obviously wasn't there – but now, more than ever, he was dreading going home and trying to find some explanation for his father; an explanation that wouldn't worry him and put risk to his still fragile health.

Slumped in a chair in Amanda's lab, he looked across at the pathologist. Though she had claimed to still have work to do, she was obviously struggling to concentrate. She held a pen in her hand, but it had been some minutes before she had written a single word – and her gaze was focussed inward, instead of on the paper in front of her.

"Are you sure that's nothing that can't wait?" Steve asked, after observing her for long moments. "I mean, I know you're busy but…"

"No, it's okay," Amanda interrupted him on a tired sigh. She closed the file that she'd been unsuccessfully trying to work on. "I just can't figure out where he could possibly be." She didn't need to elaborate who she was talking about. "I just knew that he was in trouble; he hasn't been himself for days now. If only I'd asked him…"

"You did ask him, honey." Steve's gentle voice cut through her growing distress. "You talked to him and tried to get him to talk to us. You did everything you could."

"But it doesn't feel like it was enough." Tears now filled her warm, brown eyes. "I just let him walk out of here and took his word that he was going to call you…"

"And did you believe him, Amanda? Did you really think that was what he was going to do?"

"Yes, he seemed almost back to his old self. I'd swear he was looking forward to it." She shook her head in self-recrimination. "If only I hadn't been working late. I could've driven him there myself."

"Amanda, honey, it's not your fault," Steve hurried to assure her. "Something happened to Jesse between here and his car, now it's up to us to figure out what."

"What can I do to help?" Amanda asked, blinking away the remnants of her tears and trying to turn her mind to practicalities.

"The parking lot is covered by CCTV isn't it?"

"Yes." Amanda's eyes shone with sudden enthusiasm. "We could at least see if he made it out of the building. Reaching for the phone again, she swiftly dialled another number. The conversation that followed didn't go well.

Steve snatched the phone from the pathologist when she resorted to cursing the obviously stubborn individual to whom she'd been talking.

"This is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD," he growled. "I want…"

"_And I'm supposed to just take your word for that?"_ An infuriatingly smug voice shot back at him.

"You want me to come up there and show you my badge?"

"_You come up here and show me a warrant, or I'm not releasing any tapes. We got procedures, you know."_

"I don't give a damn about your procedures." Steve's temper quickly got the better of him and he was hard-pressed not to follow Amanda's example and cuss the man. "All I give a damn about is the fact that…"

"_No warrant, no tapes."_ And suddenly Steve was cut off.

"The son-of-a-bitch hung up on me!" he told Amanda, in disbelief. "Dammit, I'm going up there and…"

"And you'll get the same response." Having had a few moments to calm down, hers became the voice of reason. "I guess he's only doing his job. Is there no way you can get that warrant?"

"Based on what evidence, Amanda?" Steve retorted, sounding suddenly tired. "We don't even know that a crime has even been committed. And we can't know without those damned tapes." He banged his fist on the table in frustration."

"Steve…"

"I… I don't even know where to start looking," he confessed, quietly. Then he paused, seeming to be fighting an inner conflict. It was easy to see when that conflict was resolved, because he looked up at her with sudden determination. "I'm gonna report him as a missing person and put a priority on it. I know he hasn't been missing for long enough, but the more eyes that are looking for him…"

"The sooner we'll find him."

"Right." More animated now that he was doing something positive, Steve pulled out his cellphone. Just minutes later, he finished his call and closed his eyes in something akin to relief.

"So all we can do is wait?" Amanda had only heard his side of the conversation, but it was enough to tell her that he had been successful. She shared his relief that now the LAPD was on the lookout for their friend.

"If only it were that simple." Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that he still had one important duty to fulfil. "Amanda, I still need to bring my dad up to speed with all of this."

"Ah." It wasn't difficult to figure out why he saw that as a potential problem. "Do you want some help?"

"I've interrupted you enough for one night," he responded, but he still made no move to leave.

"Steve, I'm not going to be able to get any more work done tonight – at least not until I know that Jesse's okay." She smiled and laid a gently supportive hand on his arm. "So let's go see your dad."

* * *

It took less than an hour for Reed to finish his 'treatment'. He didn't summon his cohorts back to him, but rather strode into the lounge, with a complacent Jesse Travis trailing obediently behind him. He bade the young doctor to sit down on the couch – and his victim did exactly that, without question or hesitation.

"And there, gentlemen, you have your killer," the hypnotist pronounced with a flourish. "He may not look the part but, when the time comes, he will murder Mark Sloan."

"And when might that time be?" Yoshimoto asked, eying his so-called partner.

"That is between the good doctor and myself – though I've no doubt that 'doctor' isn't a title he'll be holding for much longer." Reed was inordinately pleased with himself. In spite of the hiccups, of Yoshimoto's objections and Liddell's unnerving improvisation, they had finally attained what they had set out to achieve. They had created the perfect murder weapon.

"So now you expect us to merely wait?"

If Reed hadn't been so caught up in his own success, then he might have wondered about the undertone of tension in Yoshimoto's voice; might have queried the surreptitious glance that was traded between him and Liddell; might even have picked up on the strained atmosphere that he had walked into. As it was, he didn't even suspect that a previously intense conversation had ceased mere seconds before his appearance.

"It won't be a long wait," he boasted, ignoring the edge of hostility that he couldn't help but detect. It was a nervy time for all of them – the fruition of their grand plan. "Mr Liddell." He turned to the henchman. "Did you procure the gun, as I requested?"

"High calibre and untraceable – just like you said." Liddell made no move to show him the weapon and his eyes dared the hypnotist to call him on it. "When does he get it?" he asked, jerking his chin towards Jesse.

"When you take him home tonight. And that is when we go our separate ways." Reed's eyes hardened. "_All _of us," he stressed. "Travis has his instructions and nothing can go wrong. We'll meet again when it's done."

TBC…


	16. Trance 16

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Sixteen.

Once again, Liddell directed his captive to get into the back of the van. Only this time, there was no hesitation on the young doctor's part; no fear and no desperate escape attempt. It was pretty disappointing for the thug, following what had happened the last time the two of them had been in that enclosed space together. But he also knew that to try anything similar would result in failure. Travis was still held in thrall – and would remain so until he had slept and then woken up naturally.

It didn't overly concern Liddell because he had a great deal to think about. Yoshimoto's words echoed through his brain and the more he thought about them, the more he agreed. This wasn't the demonstration that they'd planned – this was just a case of petty revenge.

Once he'd made his mind up that he was going to go through with the Japanese man's planned double-cross, Liddell had to figure out exactly how he was going to pull it off. He was determined that no blame would be laid at his door.

It didn't help that Hendrickson had conducted his final session in private. It meant that he had no clue as to what Travis was expected to do – and that made it all the more difficult to attempt to stop him. But Liddell was a resourceful man and he pondered the problem as he drove. He had Yoshimoto on side and thought that he could use that to his advantage – for protection, if nothing else. Because once all of this was over, he had no intention of ever having dealings with their type ever again.

Though he had enjoyed certain elements of this job, he didn't like being put in a position of danger – particularly when the threat was coming from a man who was supposed to be paying his wage.

Moments later, a second – and more instinctive – sense of danger had him leaning forwards in his seat, peering intently through the windshield. He was approaching the street where Travis lived but, as he had neared the junction, he had just caught a glimpse of a police cruiser turning down that very road.

It might have been perfectly innocent, but he couldn't afford to be pulled over – not for any reason. He still had his victim in the back of the van and, though he was no longer bound and gagged, he was completely unresponsive and the signs of the torture he had inflicted would be obvious under even the most cursory examination. Plus there was also the chance that the police patrol's presence wasn't totally innocent. Maybe they were there for a reason. At the outside, it was a hell of a coincidence that they had arrived at that exact moment. And Liddell didn't trust coincidences.

He continued driving as these thoughts crossed his mind; bypassing the turning that he should have taken and continuing on into the night. He drove for a further twenty minutes before finding a suitably isolated spot in which to pull over. Once parked, he turned off the lights and killed the engine.

Clambering into the back of the van, Liddell surveyed the subdued young man who sat calmly in the corner – his eyes open, but staring at nothing. There was no point in trying to question him; no point in giving into his ever-present desire to inflict more pain. But that didn't mean that he couldn't seek his answers elsewhere.

The doctor had his cellphone nestled in his pocket and Liddell reached for it – disappointed when the young man didn't flinch away, as would have been the instinctive reaction of any other victim. He turned it on, intending to retrieve some numbers and make a couple of anonymous calls – but then he saw the number of calls that Travis had missed since his abduction and he raised one eyebrow. Maybe that was the way to get the answers he needed.

It took a few minutes to listen to all of the messages – that grew increasingly impatient – that Steve had left on his friend's phone, but it did tell Liddell everything that he needed to know. His prey had been expected for dinner that evening and now he had been missed. Even without Yoshimoto's intended double-cross, their plan lay in tatters.

The missing hours would be rigorously investigated; the authorities would never accept that there was no connection between them and the murder – should he actually commit it – and they would leave no stone unturned in seeking out what had happened to drive him to such uncharacteristic actions. They may even find traces of the drug in his system; might make the association with hypnotism; and if he, Liddell, had not been careful enough then someone might have seen him with Travis. If that were the case, then he was finished in LA – and he wasn't quite ready to say his goodbyes yet.

No, the plan had to be stopped and, as Yoshimoto had suggested, it had been through no fault of his own. Now he just had to find some way to account for those missing hours and to put a stop to Steve Sloan's snooping.

He pulled out his own cellphone and placed a quick call to the Japanese man – bringing him up to date with events and requesting that he deal with the third member of their triumvirate. Only then could he focus his full attention on his prisoner.

He tilted his head to one side as he surveyed the blonde man, mentally reviewing his options. His first thought was that he should kill him and make it look like an accident – that seemed the obvious way out – but Liddell was reluctant to do so. It was difficult to torture someone to death and keep it seeming accidental and the sadist in him didn't relish the prospect of causing a quick and painless demise.

His work with Travis was almost done and he wanted to enjoy their last moments together. He also shied away from murder because, already, fate had brought the young doctor to his mercies on two occasions. If he could find a way to keep Travis alive then who knew what the future might have in store for them?

There had to be a way – a way to account for those missing hours and for the strange marks that his body now bore. Liddell chuckled softly to himself – the 'alien abduction' scenario had leapt instantly into his mind. But, fun though that had been the last time, it was not a feasible plan on this occasion. He had neither the time nor the resources for such an elaborate charade. He needed something more simple, something quick and easy to achieve – but also something believable.

Maybe a non-fatal accident – one that would just hospitalise the young man. Then Liddell recalled the voicemail messages he had just listened to. Though Steve had sounded angry and irritated at first – and that irritation had definitely grown – there had also been an undercurrent of worry in his voice. He was also a cop and had undoubtedly already checked with the hospitals. To have Travis suddenly appear at one of them would only lead to even more questions.

The thoughts chased themselves around his head, as he sought a solution – one which would not involve murder. The answer came with startling suddenness and, if pressed, he could never have said where it came from. It was brilliant in its simplicity – a real stroke of genius and his eyes glimmered with anticipation as he prepared to put it into action.

* * *

"Travis was missed. The plan is ruined." Yoshimoto wasted no time in calling his partner in crime with the news that he'd just received – and nor did he bother with any pleasantries.

"_Ruined? How can it possibly be ruined?" _The hypnotist's response was predictably outraged. _"It's been less than an hour since we last met."_

"You heard me, Peter," Yoshimoto snapped impatiently. "Travis has friends – friends who missed him and have, apparently, been searching for him for hours. It's over."

"_It can't be over. The plan was foolproof."_

"And then we went and hired ourselves a fool."

"_Liddell." _The other man spat the name with utter contempt. _"I always suspected that he was enjoying himself a little too much. I'll deal with him."_

"No." Yoshimoto had made a deal and fully intended to uphold his end. "He is no longer of any significance. He will deal with Travis, but we must move on."

"_Move on? After all of the work we have put into this, you expect me to merely walk away? And what about Travis? How exactly will he be dealt with?"_

"I have left the finer details to our friend, but rest assured – nothing will be traceable back to us."

"_You're trusting our future to that psycho?"_

"I see that we have very little choice. The plan was flawed from the outset."

"_But the buyers…"_

"Will just have to be patient," the Japanese man cut in. "We know that our techniques work – we have at least learnt that much. Look at Travis as being a field test, nothing more. And, if I know Mr Liddell like I think I do, then Travis will not be killed."

"_But the process was completed," _The hypnotist's displeasure carried down the phone line. _"If he is not killed then he will do as he was directed. He will kill Mark Sloan."_

"Then it looks like you might get your revenge after all."

"_So nothing has changed. We are still on schedule."_

"No," Yoshimoto retorted, his thinning patience almost gone. "This is not the perfect murder that we planned. Travis has been missing for several hours. However Mr Liddell tries to disguise that, the fact still remains. The experiment is flawed and we need to find ourselves a new target."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone and Yoshimoto simply waited, silently hoping that he had appeased the other man with his theory that Mark Sloan was quite probably destined to die anyway.

Eventually the other man spoke again: _"We should meet up."_

"No, Peter, that's the last thing we should do." His conversation with Liddell had left Yoshimoto more than a little paranoid about the hypnotist's capabilities and he had no intention of putting himself into a situation where he, too, might become a victim. "I'll be in touch," he said with finality – and then hung up the phone.

* * *

Liddell stared down at his captive, wondering how he could snap him out of the trance-like state he was lost in. He'd tried the obvious – the movie solution of snapping his fingers in front of the young man's face – but it had had no effect. Travis had been programmed to remain hypnotised until he had slept, but Liddell didn't have time to wait for that eventuality. He wondered if forced unconsciousness would have the same effect. There was only one way to find out – and, with a smirk, the thug lashed out with his fist, catching the doctor solidly on the jaw. The blues eyes rolled back and then closed and his victim collapsed sideways.

Still smiling and, once again, thoroughly enjoying himself, Liddell retrieved his ever present roll of duct tape. He swiftly bound his captive's wrists and ankles – a precaution against the young man waking before he had made his preparations. He then fastened a gag securely across his mouth. He would be leaving the van for a short while and couldn't afford to take any chances.

Double checking his handiwork, he was confident that escape would be impossible so he climbed back into the driver's seat and headed back towards the store that he remembered passing a couple of miles back.

As he selected what he needed, he whistled softly to himself. He truly hoped that Travis would be back to normal when he came around. He had a lot of fun planned and it wouldn't do for the doctor to miss out on it.

The clerk smiled at him as she packed his purchases into a bag. She was pretty, but he barely noticed. His mind was fixed firmly on his 'work'.

"Are you having a party?" the girl asked, as she took his money.

Liddell beamed back at her: "Oh, you bet I am."

* * *

Steve unlocked the door of the beach house and then stood back to allow Amanda to precede him through it. He barely had the time to close it behind them before Mark appeared at the top of the steps.

"Anything?" the older man asked, but then got his answer from the uncomfortable look that the two of them exchanged.

"Mark, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation," Amanda replied, but her words sounded feeble even to herself.

Mark smiled at her, knowing that she was trying to prevent him from becoming agitated. The problem was that he'd spent the last couple of hours sitting alone and doing exactly that. He knew that he should be keeping calm, given his recent health scare, but that was a whole lot easier said than done.

"I'm hard pressed to think of one right now." He followed the others back into the lounge. "It's not just tonight, but the last few days. Something's wrong – but I can't understand why Jesse would hide it from us. He knows he can come to us."

"But without knowing what that something is, we can't even guess as to where he might be now," Steve cut in. He was keeping a careful eye on his dad, but the stress he was obviously feeling didn't seem to be having any detrimental effects.

"Did you find anything at all?" Mark asked – fully aware of the scrutiny he was under, but unable to prevent himself from getting involved.

"His car's still at the hospital," his son admitted, reluctantly.

"It is?" The words had exactly the effect that he'd expected. Mark leaned forwards in his seat and his gaze intensified. "Are you sure that he actually left? There are cameras in the parking lot, maybe…"

"We already thought of that, dad, but your security guys weren't being exactly cooperative. I'll need a warrant before I can even get near the tapes."

Mark slumped back in his seat, prompting Steve and Amanda to exchange a concerned glance.

"Mark?"

"Dad?"

They both spoke at once and Mark smiled at them, albeit a little tiredly: "I'm alright. I'd just forgotten about the new procedures." He grimaced. "I could try talking to them, but it's not really my department."

"It's okay, dad." The last thing Steve wanted was his father arguing with that stubborn security guard that he'd encountered earlier. "It's all in hand. I've got every cop in LA on the lookout for him."

* * *

He'd seen it in a movie once – or maybe it was an old cop show – but he never thought that he'd ever try it for himself. He'd driven back to the deserted spot that he'd previously discovered and then, re-entering the rear of the van, had crossed to where his captive lay.

Travis hadn't moved since he'd been gone and, prying open one of his eyes, he saw that the young man was still out cold. That was a situation that was easily remedied and he reached for the bag of purchases that he had placed close by. Smirking widely at the thought of what lay ahead, he extracted a six-pack of beer. They had come straight from the cooler and were still ice cold. Selecting one, he pulled it loose from the others and then shook it violently. When he was convinced that the liquid inside was suitably fizzy, he took hold of the ring-pull and opened the beer can directly into his victim's face.

Beer and froth exploded outwards and Liddell laughed out loud as panicked blue eyes flew open. The return to consciousness was accompanied by a desperate gasp for breath – breath that could not be drawn through the gag that restricted his mouth. It only served to make him inhale the liquid that had been sprayed in his face and the sudden shocking coldness had him convulsing as he tried to cough, all the while still trying to snatch in some clean air.

Liddell tore the gag free before any permanent damage was done – and watched with open amusement as Travis spluttered and gasped, his struggles turning his previously pale face bright red. But what entertained him more than anything else was the look in those fearful eyes. The hypnotism was broken and Travis was fully aware of what was happening around him – even if he couldn't understand it.

"Welcome back, Jesse," Liddell grinned. "You're just in time – the party's just getting started."

Very deliberately, Liddell upended the still foaming beer can over his captive's gasping open mouth. He didn't care when Travis tried to twist away; wasn't concerned that the majority of the liquid missed its intended target. This was only the beginning – and it was amusing to watch the bound man fight and struggle, as the beer dripped down his face and soaked his clothes.

"Are you a drinking man, Jesse?" Liddell asked, discarding the now empty can and reaching for another. "I'll bet you are – what with being a doctor and all. Some of those sights you must see… It must be enough to turn any man to drink."

No recognition shone from the eyes that stared up at him. The hypnotism had again done its job – and, though there would be no further sessions with Hendrickson, Liddell was confident that there would be little or no recollection of this encounter either. And even if there was, who the hell was going to believe him?

He opened the second beer in the more traditional way and then took his captive's chin in a firm grasp. He would undoubtedly leave more bruises to add to the growing collection – but that didn't concern him. Drunks were always getting into fights. With his solid grip it was easy to force Travis's mouth open and, once again, he upended the beer. The bound man almost immediately began to choke as the liquid filled his throat and cut off his attempts to draw breath. He coughed violently, spraying the amber liquid in all directions, snorting it out through his nose, but Liddell was ruthless, easy replacing that which was dispelled – only pausing occasionally and for long enough to ensure that his victim didn't suffocate.

Minutes later, the empty can joined the first and Liddell again reached into his bag of goodies; this time producing a small bottle of bourbon.

"You want a chaser with that beer?" he chuckled, releasing Travis long enough to break the seal on the bottle.

TBC…


	17. Trance 17

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Seventeen.

Utterly terrified and confused by what was happening, Jesse tried to turn onto his side – to twist away from the madman who held him. He couldn't catch his breath and kept swallowing convulsively. The fizzed up beer left him with the need to belch and he could feel the gassiness all the way down his throat and into his stomach.

He couldn't even try to comprehend what the man was doing to him – not that any explanation could possibly have made any sense. His attempts to move had caused his entire body to flare in agony. He tried to draw his knees up to his chest, to curl up into a protective little ball – but even that small motion pained him. He had no recollection of being hurt – and he couldn't identify what was causing him such pain – but then his memories were feeling decidedly hazy and he had no idea how he had ended up in his current situation. In fact, he was having a hard time recalling anything that might have happened since he'd left the hospital.

Then his thoughts were rudely and brutally interrupted as the man again shifted to lean over him. Jesse could see that he held a bottle in his hand and he clamped his mouth shut, not knowing what the contents might be but having no desire to find out. A firm hand once again grasped his mouth, but Jesse wasn't about to give up so easily. He tossed his head from side to side and was rewarded by the man muttering a curse and by the feel of liquid sloshing against his cheek.

But his small victory was woefully short-lived. The hand released his chin, but instead grasped hold of his hair. His head was jerked forcefully and painfully back – and he couldn't help but open his mouth and gasp in pain.

It was all his captor needed. Jesse felt glass clunk against his bottom teeth and then he was again gasping and choking – only this time the liquid burned his throat as he was forced to swallow. The cough came without warning and it sprayed the liquor back upwards – spattering his captor's face and momentarily dislodging the bottle. Jesse tried to breathe, to control the retching coughs that beleaguered his body – but panic was tightening in his chest and threatening to overwhelm him.

He wasn't helped by the fact that the madman saw only humour in his plight. Laughing, his torturer calmly discarded the bottle he'd been holding and, when his hand next came into view, it held a different bottle.

"Not a bourbon man, huh?" he chuckled, twisting the cap off his latest acquisition. "Well, how about tequila?"

* * *

The phone ringing in the early hours of the morning never boded well. Steve, having fallen asleep what felt like only minutes before, was jerked rudely awake and he fumbled in the darkness for his cellphone.

"Sloan here," he barked, squinting towards his alarm clock and groaning as he saw that it was just approaching three am. It _had_ only been minutes since he'd fallen asleep – literally. He, his dad and Amanda had guessed and theorised all night but had still not come up with a plausible excuse for Jesse's disappearance. Eventually, Steve had called a halt to the conversation. Amanda had graciously accepted their offer for her to stay in a guest room and the three of them had retired.

Then the phone had rung – and Steve listened with a growing sense of disbelief, that bordered on surrealism, to what he was being told. Jesse had been found. The relief that had threatened to swamp him when he'd first heard those words was swiftly replaced by discomfort as further details emerged. Yes, Jesse had been found, but he'd been found semi-conscious in an alley, drunk as a skunk. The duty officer told him that he was presently "sleeping it off" in an empty cell.

"And it's definitely him?" Steve asked, once he was able to find his voice. Of all the possible outcomes, this had to be the most unexpected.

The cop on the other end of the line quickly confirmed that it was most certainly Jesse – not only describing him with complete accuracy, but also adding that he still had his wallet and drivers licence with him. It looked like he might have been in a fight, but he hadn't been mugged.

"A fight?" Steve felt alarm bells ringing at those words. Jesse wasn't the type to pick a fight. But then, he wasn't normally the type to drink, either. "What the hell was he thinking?" he muttered, mostly to himself. But his colleague picked up on the words – and then sagely informed the detective that the Captain was currently on the warpath and had demanded to speak with Steve the next time he set foot into the precinct.

Steve groaned to himself as he broke the connection. He'd put a top priority missing persons call out on Jesse – and the doctor, albeit for reasons unknown, had been getting smashed in a bar somewhere. That was the kind of thing that his Captain took utterly humourlessly.

He wondered if he should wake the others – if they were even sleeping – simply to put their minds at rest that Jesse was alive and well, but he could feel anger growing inside him and realised that he should maybe wait until he calmed down.

Further sleep was most definitely out of the question. He was in deep trouble with his superiors and lying awake worrying about it wasn't going to make a damned bit of difference. Never the type to run and hide from his responsibilities, Steve decided that he would just bite the bullet – and he'd do it sooner, rather than later.

Hauling himself out of bed, he quietly dressed and then crept up the stairs from his apartment. Sleepiness still dragged at his eyelids and he delayed only long enough for a quick coffee – needing the boost that only caffeine could give him.

He had barely set the pot to boil, when he heard a soft footstep behind him. Turning, he saw his dad entering the kitchen and he fixed him with a stern look.

"You should be sleeping," he admonished the older man.

"And so should you," Mark responded, amiably. "I heard you moving about and wondered if you'd maybe come up with something new?"

"You didn't hear the phone?" Steve cursed the words the moment that they left his mouth – now there would be no denying that something had happened – and he'd wanted to get things straight in his head before he even attempted to discuss them with someone else.

"Mark? Steve?" Amanda's sleepy voice gave him the briefest of respites. Then she, too, entered the kitchen – and Steve was left with the unenviable task of filling them in on what he had learnt.

"That's impossible," Amanda stated flatly, all trace of fatigue now gone from her voice. "Jesse doesn't even drink; much less get himself into that sort of state."

"And he wouldn't be so irresponsible," Mark added, his brow furrowed as he processed what he had just been told.

"Dad, all I know is what the guys at the station told me." Steve held his hands up, indicating that he was not the enemy there. "He was picked up by two cops and he was completely out of it, incoherent and stinking of booze. What am I supposed to think?"

"Could it be a case of mistaken identity?" Amanda wondered, echoing Steve's own earlier thoughts. As much as she wanted to be safe in the knowledge that Jesse had been found, she was struggling to accept what she was hearing. And she didn't like the anger – barely kept in check – that simmered in Steve's eyes.

"It's him alright," the detective answered – said anger beginning to creep into his tone. "He still had his wallet with him."

"Even if it is him – and I'm not doubting that – something must be seriously wrong to drive him into doing such a thing," Mark mused, his worry not having diminished in the slightest.

"That's all well and good, but he's an adult. He should know that drink doesn't solve anything." He ran one hand through his hair, a sure sign of his frustration. "Look, I have to go."

"At this hour?" his dad looked at him in surprise. "Surely Jesse will still be 'sleeping it off'."

"I'd imagine so, but it seems like my Captain never sleeps – and right now he wants to know why I put a priority call out for a drunk!"

"Steve…" Amanda tried to cut in, thinking his words to be overly harsh. They still hadn't heard Jesse's side of things.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm in right now?" Steve interrupted. "I can guarantee that the words 'misuse of police resources' is going to come into it."

"Steve, you know that Jesse would never deliberately cause trouble for you." It was Mark's turn to attempt to pacify the detective.

"I keep trying to tell myself that," his son replied, though he sounded anything but appeased. "But all of this could have been avoided by one simple phone call. So what if he didn't want to come for dinner? All he had to do was say so. And dad, you're still recuperating, remember? What right does he have to worry you like this?"

"No harm's been done, Steve. I'm alright."

"That's not the point. It's three am and we're standing here arguing. You know you should be resting."

Mark bit his lip and said nothing. He couldn't admonish his son for being worried about him. Heaven knew, he'd had enough worrying to do recently – and he was only looking out for his father's best interests.

"Please, just promise that you'll speak to Jesse before you go passing judgement." It was Amanda who broke the lengthening silence. "I know it might not seem likely, but there could be a perfectly good explanation behind this."

"Yeah, maybe." Steve sounded anything but convinced – and it was to his father that he directed his next words: "I know it's probably pointless me saying this, but try to get some rest while I'm gone."

"You'll keep us informed?" Mark asked, not committing to his son's previous statement either way.

"I'll call you just as soon as I know anything."

In spite of his rapidly worsening mood, Steve couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry over his best friend. To say that his behaviour that night was out of character was an understatement of massive proportions.

As he drove, he allowed his mind to wander – anything to distract himself from the dressing down he knew he was going to receive when he reached the precinct. He dwelled on what Amanda had said – about there being a good explanation for what had happened – but he was having a hard time believing that that would turn out to be the case.

Even if Jesse wasn't drunk – even if he had gotten into a fight and maybe had alcohol spilt on him – that still didn't explain the lack of a phone call, or the strange behaviour that the young man had exhibited over the last few days. In fact, it didn't explain anything at all and was, at best, a fanciful theory.

But more fanciful theories followed quickly on the heels of that one; fuelled, at least in part, by his lack of sleep and the caffeine which was all that was keeping him going. _Semi-conscious and reeking of alcohol. _That was all the cop who'd called had told him – and that didn't necessarily mean drunk. The smell of alcohol might have been deliberately inflicted, so as to hide the truth from them. The semi-conscious part had more than one possible explanation. Jesse had been 'involved in a fight' – but that was not the only way that bruises might be inflicted. Perhaps his friend had been deliberately beaten. Perhaps his inebriated appearance was not caused by alcohol, but by drugs. It would not be the first time that the young doctor had been drugged against his will.

Steve only too well remembered the encounter with Perris Pharmaceuticals and Jesse's growing fear and paranoia – almost culminating in Steve having a close encounter with a baseball bat. He remembered the insecurity and embarrassment that had dogged him for months following the entire episode. And he remembered how damned close Trask had come to achieving his plan to completely destroy Jesse's credibility.

His expression darkened and his anger was thrust to the back of his mind as he allowed worry to take free reign. Almost unconsciously, he pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

His instructions had been to report immediately to his Captain, but Steve couldn't bring himself to do that. On arriving at the precinct, he instead headed towards the cells. A few quiet words with the custody officer soon had him being led towards the cell that contained his best friend.

His and Amanda's vague theory that it might turn out not to be Jesse was instantly dispelled. There was no mistaking the dishevelled form lying still and silent on the solitary bunk.

Steve's mouth thinned as he took in the purpling bruises that marred his friend's temple and jaw. They stood out in stark relief against his pale skin – and Steve's instant reaction was that he did not look like a drunk, but like a victim. But he was also too good a cop to take anything merely on face value.

"I don't suppose he was breathalysed," he murmured, pitching his voice low, in deference to the sleeping man.

"Nah. It wasn't like he was driving," the other officer responded. "The arresting officers recognised him straight away, brought him back here and then I called you."

"And he was definitely drunk?" Steve's eyes never left the supine form.

"Man, can't you smell it from here?"

"His jacket's stained. That could account for the smell." His voice inadvertently rose, but still Jesse didn't stir. "Any way you could find out for me?"

"Not without his consent." The officer shrugged. "It compromises any prosecution otherwise."

"You mean he's been charged?" Steve shouted those words and they finally provoked a reaction from the man in the cell. Jesse moaned softly and rolled onto his side, his hands clutching feebly at his stomach. Seconds later he retched and a thin stream of bile snaked out on his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Steve's concern found a new direction. "Let me in there," he demanded.

"Look, you shouldn't…"

"Let me in there, dammit!" Another convulsion from his friend had him grasping at the bars of the cell. "He could be choking."

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the crisis passed. Jesse's body relaxed back onto the bunk and his breathing evened out. He hadn't so much as opened his eyes during the entire episode.

"I've been keeping an eye on him, Steve," the officer told him. "Listen, I know he's your friend, but something major has screwed up here. Now, I don't know how the Captain got hold off this, but…"

"But I did." A strident, familiar voice overrode the hapless custody officer. His next words were directed solely at Steve: "And I also left instructions for you to report to me the moment you set foot in the precinct."

"Sir, I was on my way," Steve tried to appease his Captain, "But…"

"Reporting to me usually means my office, Sloan." With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Steve with no choice but to follow him.

Two hours later, Steve finally escaped from his Captain's office, his ears still ringing from the reprimand he had received. And it still wasn't over.

Captain Newman had initially been suspicious when Steve had protested that there might be more going on than met the eye. But he also knew Jesse Travis – even if he did have issues with his inappropriate involvement in official police business – and was forced to concede that such behaviour was completely out of character. He even admitted that there was a strong possibility that Jesse might be a target to some people – simply because of his association with the Sloans.

And it was for those reasons only that he gave Steve forty-eight hours to prove that Jesse's condition was not the result of mere overindulgence before the dressing down he'd been given became a much more serious reprimand. Now not only did he have to find out the truth – he also had to prove it.

TBC…


	18. Trance 18

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the reviews. Hope you're all still enjoying it.**

TRANCE.

Part Eighteen.

Steve headed straight back down to the holding cells. He needed details and he wasn't prepared to sit around waiting for Jesse to wake up to provide them. The same cop who had greeted him before was still on duty. He took one look at Steve's face and the crack that he'd been about to make – about him being busted back down to uniform – died on his lips. The detective most definitely wasn't in the mood for jokes. He opted instead for what he hoped would be perceived as good news.

"I was trying to tell you, Steve – before the Captain dropped by – your friend hasn't been formally charged with anything."

"Not yet," Steve growled, still smarting from his meeting with Newman.

"Um… Well, the um… the arresting officers…" The uniformed cop didn't know quite how to react as his attempted assurances fell completely flat. "They thought they'd wait for you…"

"Are they still here?"

"No, but I spoke to them." The cop's gaze grew uncomfortable and he couldn't quite look Steve in the eye. "Steve, he wasn't unconscious when they found him, but there was no doubt in either of their minds that he was drunk. And… Well, when I went in to check on him… His breath reeks of it."

"And what about this fight he's supposed to have been in?" Steve couldn't imagine Jesse getting into a fight – but then he couldn't imagine him drinking so much either. "Any word on that?"

"Steve, it was Downtown LA. Do you have any idea how many bar fights and brawls were called in?"

"Downtown LA?" Steve frowned. He had gone there seeking answers but, instead all he was getting were more questions. "Where exactly was he picked up?"

"In an alley outside a bar." The cop looked apologetic. "That's all I can tell you, Steve."

* * *

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, glowering in at the sleeping form – and having to physically resist the urge to go marching in there and shake Jesse awake; no matter how rough he might be feeling. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at the darkening bruises.

The circumstances didn't matter – Jesse had been hurt enough. He let out a sigh of pent up frustration and turned back to the custody officer: "I wanna know the second that he wakes up," he growled. "And nobody talks to him before I do."

"Sure thing, Steve," the cop amicably agreed. "You heading back home?"

"Nah." He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep and he didn't want to risk disturbing his dad, on the wild off-chance that Mark was actually getting some more rest. He opted not to call the beach house for the same reason. And it wasn't as though he had anything new to tell them. "I've got some things to do upstairs."

Things such as trying to track down an anonymous bar brawl – one of potentially dozens – and finding out who had inflicted those bruises on his friend. And trying to find any sort of concrete evidence as to what had transpired that night. He wasn't certain that he was prepared to merely take Jesse's word for it – and he found that thought more than a little disturbing.

Nodding his thanks to his colleague, Steve turned on his heel. But before he could even make it to the door, he was stopped as a low moan sounded from the bunk behind him.

Steve spun back around towards the cell, having already decided – albeit subconsciously – that if Jesse was convulsing again, he was taking him straight to the hospital. But the young man didn't appear to be in any difficulty, although he was growing increasingly more restless.

Another soft groan accompanied him rolling onto his back and then flinging one arm up to cover his eyes – even though the light in the cell wasn't overly bright. Then Jesse rolled again and Steve saw what was going to happen just a fraction too late to shout out a warning. The cot on which Jesse lay was a good deal narrower than his own bed and he tilted unceremoniously over the side.

If it hadn't been for the dull thud and accompanying cry of pain then it might have been funny. As it was, Steve winced at the sight, knowing that there would be more bruises to add to his friend's already colourful collection.

"Open the door," he said softly and, this time, the cop complied.

Steve crossed the short distance to the bunk and looked down at Jesse with mild exasperation as the young doctor tried – with limited success – to disentangle himself from the blanket that he had dragged down onto the floor with him. Eventually Jesse gave up and slumped against the side of the bed, letting his head fall into his hands.

"Oh, man…" His voice was muffled and his hands were shaking. "What the hell..?"

Steve's waning patience finally gave. He grabbed hold of the doctor's shoulder and hauled him upright, before flinging him back down onto the bunk. He didn't say anything, but waited for Jesse's senses to catch up with him. Bleary, bloodshot blue eyes gazed up at him in utter confusion. Then they flittered around his surroundings and it finally sunk in exactly where he was.

"Um… Steve?" He looked up and tried not to flinch from the scowl he was greeted with. "What..? Where..? Why am I in jail?"

"I was hoping you were gonna tell me that." Steve folded his arms across his chest. He knew it made him look intimidating, but it also prevented him from doing something rash – like trying to shake the answers out of Jesse. "You get drunk enough to wind up unconscious in an alley, what do you expect the cops to do with you?"

"Um… Drunk..?" At least that would explain the killer headache that suddenly and brutally made its presence felt. And the feeling that his mouth was stuffed with cotton wool and was as dry as the Sahara. And the uncomfortable feeling roiling in his gut. "Um, Steve… I think I'm gonna…"

That was all the warning he got. Steve barely leapt back out of the way in time, as Jesse suddenly heaved – leaning forwards so as not to soil the bed – but not having the presence of mind to try and make it to the john.

"Christ, Jesse!" he snapped, even as he was aware of the other cop leaving them alone as he went to fetch a mop and bucket. His hold on his temper was tenuous at best – and he knew that whatever other fanciful theories he might have come up with, the truth was simple. Jesse was clearly hung-over.

Carefully skirting the mess – that was just liquid; more testimony as to what had happened – Steve sat next to the miserable looking young man. Sympathy flared, but he swiftly quashed it: "You feel like doing that again, there's a toilet in the corner," he snapped.

Jesse merely nodded, keeping his head down – embarrassed by his loss of control. He felt awful – and Steve was doing a good job of exacerbating that feeling.

"So, are you ready to explain?"

"Uh… explain..?" the younger man repeated dumbly. In all honesty, he was having trouble processing what was happening.

"Yeah, explain why you had me, dad and Amanda sitting up half the night worried sick about you – and you were out getting blasted!"

They were interrupted then by the return of the cop with the cleaning equipment. Steve took it from him and waved him away again. Jesse's mortification deepened as his friend began to clean up his vomit.

"I'll do it," he offered quietly, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Sit down, Jesse." The detective made short work of the small mess. "Before you make yourself ill again." Shoving the bucket to one side, he returned his full attention to the smaller man. "And now would be a good time to start talking."

"I don't know what happened," the young doctor mumbled, sinking miserably back down onto the bunk. "I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember?" Steve snapped in retaliation. "Okay, so some parts might be a little hazy, given that you seem to have tried to break some kind of a drinking record. What about the fight? Do you remember that?"

"Uh… fight?" He reached up and touched his aching face. As he did so, the sleeve of his jacket slipped, revealing a ragged wound on his wrist.

"What the hell..?" Steve's arm snaked out and grabbed hold of the other man – a little more roughly than he had intended. Jesse flinched and tried to pull away, but the detective was relentless. He stared at the all too familiar marks. "They cuffed you?" he demanded incredulously. "Don't tell me you were fighting with the police, too. You might not have been charged yet, but that could soon change. Resisting arrest? Is there anything else I should know about?"

"Um…" Jesse too stared at the torn skin of his wrist. Now that he was aware of it, the pain was making itself known to him. And it was not only that pain – it felt as though every part of him hurt and there was a sharp burning agony stabbing at his chest. He reached up with trembling fingers and drew the zipper of his jacket down. He heard Steve's sharp exclamation and silently echoed it, just able to make out the shape of an angry, blistering burn below his collarbone.

"Take your jacket off," Steve instructed him – and, finally, there was something other than anger in his tone.

Jesse slowly and awkwardly did as he was told, revealing his torn shirt and even more wounds marring his torso.

Steve's hand hovered over another burn situated just above the doctor's hip. "How can you not remember this happening?" he wondered. "Jesse, it looks like you've been tortured. Is that why you went and got drunk? Because somebody hurt you?"

"I don't know, Steve." Jesse's voice shook when he answered and he looked on the verge of tears. "I don't remember anything."

Steve tore his gaze away from the ugly wounds and drew his friend's jacket back around him. "What's the last thing you do remember?"

Jesse closed his eyes in an effort to aid the memory – but that proved to be a mistake. The room began to spin alarmingly and he felt himself tilt to one side, seeking the reassuring solidity of the bunk.

"Jess? Jesse, are you okay?"

Steve's voice filtered through his misery, but he could only moan softly in response. His nausea had returned with a vengeance and bile flooded his mouth, but he ruthlessly choked it back. He had embarrassed himself in front of Steve enough already.

"Come on, buddy."

Strong hands grasped his shoulder and hauled him upright and he cracked his eyes open as he was manoeuvred to his feet.

"I'll be damned if I'm cleaning up after you twice in one day."

Steve was carefully assisting him towards the toilet and Jesse didn't try to fight. He wasn't sure how long he could maintain his control over his rebellious stomach.

"And I want you to remember this the next time you even _think _about going off on some bender."

Jesse couldn't answer. Though he might not remember anything, his head and his body were telling him that he had definitely overdone it with the alcohol – and to an extent that he hadn't indulged since his graduation party. And, though it might have been a psychological reaction, the sight of the toilet had again sent his stomach roiling. He lurched free from Steve's grip and began retching over the porcelain bowl. Nothing emerged but murky liquid – and the force of his heaves sent fire racing through his stomach muscles. With a groan, he sunk into a seated position and rested his still spinning head against the wall. The aftertaste in his mouth was almost enough to make him sick again.

"Steve, could I have some water?" he asked – and was surprised by how weak his voice sounded.

"Sure, Jess." Steve bit back a sigh. It was clear that he wasn't going to get the answers that he craved just yet.

He didn't think that pouring a cup from the nearby sink would do his friend's tender stomach any good and so he called again for the custody officer. Once the water arrived, he waited until Jesse had taken a drink before turning his full attention back to him.

"Look, maybe you should get some more rest; try to sleep it off some more," he said, allowing his sympathy to surface. "We can talk about this later."

Jesse looked back up at him through bleary eyes. Sleep sounded like such a good idea: "Can I go home?" he asked, hopefully.

Steve hesitated for a long moment. He still wasn't certain of the circumstances surrounding the young doctor being picked up by the police – and he didn't want to risk causing any further trouble when there was even a slim chance that charges might yet be brought against him. The trouble was, he didn't want to tell Jesse that. His friend looked as though he had enough problems as it was.

"Steve?" The blonde man asked as the silence stretched.

"Jesse, you're not in any state to drive anywhere – and I'm not sure that I want you in my car right now; I just had it cleaned." He tried to inject some humour into his voice, but it fell completely flat. "Seriously, Jess, I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to be moving around too much right now. You'll be perfectly safe here and I won't be going far."

"What are you going to do?" Jesse asked. He still felt guilty and embarrassed by the situation he'd found himself in and he simply didn't have the strength to argue.

"I'm gonna try and find out what happened to you, Jess. And I want to get the doctor to take a look at you."

Warmed by the caring that was now evident in his best friend's voice, Jesse allowed the detective to help him back to the bunk. He thought that sleep would prove to be impossible with so many unanswered questions buzzing around his head, but he had not slept long enough for the alcohol to leave his system and – though he had no way of knowing it – his sleep had been anything but natural for the previous two nights. Exhaustion swiftly claimed him.

* * *

Steve didn't know why he was surprised. In fact, he silently mused, he should have been more surprised had he _not _been confronted by the situation he now faced.

He stared at his father and Amanda, listening in amazement as the older man made it sound as though turning up at the precinct at practically the crack of dawn was the most natural thing in the World.

"I don't believe that you seriously expected us to just go back to sleep, knowing that Jesse was locked up in a jail cell somewhere," Mark said, seeming put out by the exasperated greeting he had received from his son. "And I'm sure I'd sleep a lot better if I could just see that he's alright. Of course, by the time it got to six am and you still hadn't called…"

"Don't try and turn this round on me, dad," Steve cut in. "I didn't call because I'd hoped that you'd be sleeping."

"But I couldn't sleep because…"

"I know, I know!" The detective held his hands up in surrender. "You needed to know how Jesse is."

"Well, now that we're here," Amanda said, before the conversation could degenerate any further. "How is he?"

"He's sleeping." Steve retorted with a pointed look at his father. Then, realising that he was just wasting time on an argument that he'd already lost, he got down to business. "He was awake for a little while, but he claimed not to remember anything."

"He 'claimed'?" Mark repeated, perturbed by his son's choice of word. "You don't believe him?"

"I don't know, dad." Steve ruffled one hand through his hair. "He'd definitely been drinking and he was sick twice and then there's…" He hesitated, wondering how much he should say about the strange injuries the young doctor had suffered.

"Steve?" His father used his familiar 'no nonsense' tone that told Steve he wasn't going to let the matter drop until he'd heard everything.

"He's been hurt," the detective reluctantly admitted. "He looks pretty beat up and there're wounds on his wrists that look like he'd been cuffed. I've been trying to track down the officers who picked him up, but they're out on patrol."

"And you didn't think maybe you should take him to the hospital?" Mark asked, his voice bordering on incredulous.

"I was gonna get the doctor to take a look at him, but then you showed up," Steve retorted defensively.

"Take me to him."

"Dad…" This was exactly the scenario that he'd been hoping to avoid.

"Steve, you've already said that you were concerned enough to want a doctor to see him," Mark reminded him. "Do you really expect me to just walk away?"

"That's not what I'm asking. I just… I don't…" Steve floundered, unsure of exactly what he did want of his father. Sending him home was not an option. "You're supposed to be resting," he concluded, lamely.

"And I'll rest much more easily once I've seen Jesse."

"I'll be right there too, Steve." Amanda chose that moment to remind him of her presence. "I'll make sure he doesn't overdo things."

"Great. You too, huh?" Steve grumbled, knowing that the argument was lost and steering them towards the door that led to the holding area. Again, he found that his resentment was beginning to resurface – and, again, it was aimed towards Jesse. This time for – even inadvertently – involving his father in this mess.

TBC…


	19. Trance 19

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Apologies to those of you who dislike the conflict between friends in this story. I'm afraid that there's MUCH more to come… And with good reason, as will soon be revealed… Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review.**

TRANCE.

Part Nineteen.

The shift having changed, the incoming custody officer glanced up when Steve Sloan entered his domain – accompanied by his father and Amanda Bentley, both of whom he knew through his many years on the force. He didn't exhibit any surprise, but merely nodded a greeting to the newcomers. When he spoke, his words were addressed to Steve, instantly knowing why the seasoned detective was looking so worried: "He's still sleeping – or he was when I looked in on him five minutes ago."

"Thanks, Mac." Steve was genuinely grateful. Now one of his dad's worries had eased. He knew that Jesse was being well looked after. But there were still countless other worries to face. He paused at the door that led to the cells. "Look, before we go in there, there's something I have to tell you." He should have done it long before now, but the timing had never been right.

"Steve?" Both voices spoke his name at the same time and he found himself facing identical looks of concern.

"Some of Jesse's injuries…" He bit the bullet and dove straight in. "They're not just scrapes that he might have picked up in a fight. It looks like he's… Some of the wounds, they look like burns…"

"He was tortured?" Mark practically choked on the words.

"That would have been my guess," the detective conceded. "But it's something else that he says he can't remember. Dad, those burns must have hurt like hell. How can you not remember something like that being done to you?"

"Maybe he wasn't conscious when it happened," the older man reasoned. "Or maybe it was so traumatic that his mind is shutting out the truth. Whatever the case here, Steve, I think there's more to it than Jesse merely being drunk."

He felt Amanda shudder next to him and he turned towards her, his worry finding a new direction.

"Honey, what is it?" he asked, taking in her tear filled eyes.

"I was just remembering…" She wrapped her arms around herself, making it obvious that the memories were not pleasant. "That time when he was lost and they found him in Utah… He had strange marks on his body and… And we ended up thinking that he was taking drugs!"

"Amanda, none of us truly believed that," Mark tried to assure her. "You know that."

"But we still searched his apartment!" she cried – her own guilt at having ever entertained such a notion returning to assail her. "We jumped to conclusions and accused him of something terrible – and I'm not about to do that again."

"This isn't the same," Steve interjected, wondering why she had dragged them back to that awful time. "Jesse wasn't kidnapped and he's not been missing for five days…"

"But he's not been himself – we've all noticed that," Amanda argued. "He's been distant and withdrawn and not spending time with any of us. What's he been doing, Steve? Where has he been?"

"You can't seriously think that Perris Pharmaceuticals has anything to do with this." The detective could only look at the facts that were presented to him – and he could not see even the remotest link. The wounds on his body were not even the same. "That was years ago. The company is long dead – they'd have no reason to go after him again."

"I'm not saying it was them, Steve," she persisted. "I'm just saying that we have to keep an open mind."

"I always try and do that, Amanda."

Mark watched sadly as Steve preceded them through the door. It wasn't only Jesse who was behaving oddly. It was unusual to hear his son and Amanda being so short with one another. He sighed tiredly as he followed them. He didn't know what was happening, but he did know that it was putting a strain on all of them.

Scowling, he followed them into the holding area – and, when they came across Jesse, was relieved to find him in a cell on his own. The door, he noticed, was unlocked; seeing it as testament to the fact that the young man had merely been placed there to sleep off his binge – but not knowing that it had only been at Steve's specific request, following his prior awakening.

Mark paused in the doorway, using only his eyes to do the first examination. Jesse's face was bruised around his cheek and temple. Further bruises coloured his jaw but, though they looked painful – and out of place on Jesse's normally flawless features – they were hardly consistent with his son's words about torture. All could have been obtained in a fight – albeit a fight that the young man had obviously lost.

He took a step closer to his sleeping friend, aware that Amanda and Steve had both hung back in order to let him do his job. Dropping to a crouch at Jesse's side, Mark gently reached out and drew his jacket open. He hissed in a shocked breath at the sight that met his eyes – and Jesse stirred restlessly even at that slight noise.

"It's alright, Jesse." Mark kept his voice low and soothing. "You're going to be just fine. I just want to see where you're hurt."

His gentle tone had exactly the opposite effect to what he'd desired. Instead of calming Jesse back towards sleep, the blue eyes suddenly shot open – wide with shock and confusion.

"It's alright," he repeated. "It's only me. It's Mark."

And again, Jesse's reaction was completely unexpected. He surged upwards off the bunk – and Mark was forced to rear back as recognition dawned in those eyes; along with something else: something feral and dangerous and totally alien to his normally benign friend.

"Jesse, what is it?" he could hear a hint of panic in his own voice and wondered where the hell it had come from. He had never had reason to be afraid of Jesse. But Steve must have picked up on it, too – because he heard his son's confident footstep behind him.

"Jesse! It's okay, you're safe now."

The detective's voice did the trick and that strange look disappeared from the young doctor's eyes. He blinked up at the two of them.

"Wh..? Mark?" he stammered, unconsciously closing his jacket back around himself. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you were alright," Mark smiled, dismissing what had just transpired and attributing it to the fact that his friend had just woken up in a strange place. "I heard you were hurt."

"Oh…" Events of his previous awakening came rushing back to him and he averted his gaze. "Um… I'm okay…"

"Are you feeling better, Jess?" Steve asked; his tone somewhat wary. He had no desire to be on clean up duty again.

"Uh…" Jesse rubbed a shaky hand across his forehead. "I guess…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Just kinda dizzy…"

"That's hardly surprising," Steve muttered, dourly.

Mark could hear the obvious disapproval in his voice and hurriedly stepped in before things could get any worse: "I'll get you something for that in a few minutes. First I just want to take a look at you."

"Okay." Jesse kept his eyes closed and his expression was thoroughly miserable.

Mark could feel the embarrassment radiating from him – and he hadn't even realised that Amanda was there too. He decided to save the young man from any further trauma and, glancing back over his shoulder, silently gestured for the two of them be left alone.

"It's alright, Jesse," he soothed. "You don't have to worry. It's just you and me now. We're alone."

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

"_The next time you are alone with Mark Sloan, you will kill him. You will be provided with a gun and you will shoot him in the head. You will shoot him three times – all in the head. Do you understand me?"_

Mark's voice had triggered the insidious whispers the moment that he had awoken – and, though no-one else in the room could possibly have known it, his initial reaction had been to reach for the gun; to do as he had been programmed. But the gun wasn't there. Then Steve's voice had broken the spell, though the strange and compelling voice still lingered at the edge of his consciousness.

"_If the two of you are not alone, you will behave as your friends would expect you to behave. You will give no clue or hint and no warning. You will act and react perfectly normally and you will wait until you are alone with Mark Sloan. Then you will take your gun and you will shoot him three times in the head. Do you understand me?"_

Then Mark said the fateful words – they were alone – and he surged forwards, solely intent on fulfilling the task that had been programmed into him. But there was no gun.

"_If something goes wrong – if you are disarmed for any reason, then you will still kill Mark Sloan. You will use whatever weapon you can find; you will use your bare hands if necessary. But you will kill him – and you will ensure that he is truly dead; that he will never be resuscitated. You will not fail. Do you understand me?"_

And when Jesse saw that they were truly alone, he glanced wildly around his surroundings – seeking a weapon of any description, but coming up empty. He ignored Mark's startled cry at his sudden movement and took the only option that was left to him.

Jesse's wildly flailing fist only caught Mark a glancing blow but, caught off guard and off balance, the older man fell. It was the only opening that Jesse needed.

"Gavin sends his regards."

The words were spoken coldly, almost emotionlessly, but Mark barely even registered them. He was more concerned with defending himself as Jesse – unthinkably – attacked him again. He flinched away from the look in his young friend's eyes. They held none of the gentle compassion that he was so used to seeing there – but only a grim and frightening determination that chilled him to his very core.

Jesse drove forwards, his fists flying and it was all that Mark could do to throw up his arms and try to fend off the blows. Shock had almost paralysed him and, absurdly, he didn't want to inadvertently hurt the younger man.

His attempts to defend himself were easily brushed aside and Jesse descended on him again – this time catching him more forcefully on the side of the head. Mark's world temporarily greyed out and then he felt strong hands latch around his throat. He forced his eyes open and tried to snatch in a breath. But Jesse's hands – hands that had been trained to heal, not harm – were squeezing tighter and relentlessly tighter.

"Mark, I thought… Oh my God!"

Again, words barely registered through the fog that was beginning to cloud his senses – but he did recognise Amanda's voice. His hands were locked on Jesse's wrists, trying to stop the pressure that was slowly killing him and he couldn't call for help. He didn't need to. One of Jesse's hands was torn free from its murderous grip and Jesse himself was almost dislodged. Almost.

Mark snatched in half a breath and then could only watch in disbelief as Jesse casually, but brutally, swung a fist at Amanda and knocked her clear of them. He heard her cry of pain and then her scream for Steve. Then Jesse was on him again, resuming his chokehold and Mark knew that he was almost out of time. His vision began to darken and then he felt a sudden, dreadfully familiar, pain stab at his chest and he knew it was the end.

His last coherent thought was the simple question: why?

* * *

Mark had left his medical bag at the custody officer's desk and that very small oversight on his part turned out to be his salvation. It was Amanda who'd spotted it and, though Jesse hadn't appeared to be seriously hurt, she'd known that Mark would want it.

Steve had merely nodded when she'd told him that she was taking it back into the cell and had then resumed his conversation with Mac, trying to figure out exactly what had happened to Jesse that evening.

Then they heard the scream – or, more precisely, Amanda's voice screaming Steve's name. Both cops reacted instantly to the sound, heading back towards the cells at a run.

Steve didn't know what he'd expected when he burst through the door, but the sight that greeted him was more shocking than even the grimmest scenario he could have conjured up in his imagination. It took him a moment to process exactly what he was seeing – Jesse was straddling his father and had his hands locked tightly around the older man's throat. And, to Steve's horror, his dad's eyes were closed and there was a laxness to his features that utterly terrified him.

He didn't try to make reason of the sight and he wasted no time with words. His father's life was in danger – the questions could wait. He didn't even bother drawing his gun – he couldn't spare the time to shout out a warning as ingrained procedure dictated. He simply launched himself at Jesse, catching him in a flying tackle that tore the young man's grip free and carried them both clear of Mark.

Jesse squirmed and struggled beneath him and it was all that he could do to keep him pinned. To his horror, he seemed intent on going back and finishing what he'd started with Mark. Steve was yelling in his face, but it seemingly had no effect and, as Jesse redoubled his efforts and almost broke free, the cop was left without a choice. Drawing back his fist, he connected solidly with Jesse's jaw and the young doctor slumped into unconsciousness.

His fist went back a second time, seemingly of its own volition and Steve had to physically fight the urge – the need – to again strike the prone man below him. Jesse had hurt his dad; had maybe even…

Images of his last glimpse of Mark suddenly assailed him and he hauled himself to his feet with a strangled cry. Mark couldn't be dead. It didn't matter how he'd looked. He just couldn't be dead. He couldn't.

"Get him out of here," he snarled, talking to Mac, but his eyes seeking out his father. Amanda was kneeling over him, blocking his view. "And this time lock him up. This time he _is _under arrest."

Mac brushed past him without a word and Steve took a tentative step forwards.

"Amanda?" he questioned, shakily. Adrenaline had driven him, but now pure fear had taken a deadly grip.

"He's alive, Steve." She didn't look up, but he could _hear_ her tears. "But we need an ambulance. I think it's his heart…"

Steve crossed the short distance between them in no time at all – barely hearing Mac's promise to call for the ambulance as he hauled the still unconscious Jesse out of the cell. He reached out towards his dad's too-still face and gently brushed his cheek. Already a bruise was beginning to darken there – and black rage began to well up inside of him.

"Hang in there, dad," he whispered, fiercely. "Help's on its way. And I swear to you, he's not gonna get away with this. He'll pay for it, dad. I promise you."

TBC…


	20. Trance 20

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Apologies for the delay in updating. I won't bore you with the details, but just get on with the story! Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty.

It had been another – mercifully mild – heart attack, but the warning that had accompanied it had been much more severe. Two heart attacks – however mild – in such a short space of time had very dire implications indeed. Doctor Raymond Swanson, who had treated Mark, spoke grimly about how close a call this had been. And he had minced no words in stressing that if there were to be a next time, then it was unlikely that Mark would be so lucky. But, what had surprised both Steve and Amanda the most had been the underlying air of anger in the doctor's voice.

"Mark should be taking it easy," he told Steve, scowling as he looked towards the exam room door behind which the older doctor lay. "Doctor Travis should have issued him with specific instructions as to what he could and could not do during his recovery."

"Jesse did…" Still shocked by recent events, Amanda's defence of Jesse was an instinctive reaction.

"Doctor Travis is no longer my father's physician," Steve interrupted her, coldly. "And I promise you, Doc, when he gets out of here he'll do exactly as you say. I'll make sure of it. When can he come home?"

"He's sleeping at the moment and then there are some tests that we'll need to run. After that, I'll be keeping him in for observation for at least twenty-four hours. His anxiety and stress levels are high and he won't be going anywhere until he can maintain a constant and level heartbeat." The doctor glowered at them again. He had a lot of respect for Mark Sloan and it had shaken him to see him looking so fragile and vulnerable. "So, if he was following Jesse's instructions, how did he end up in a situation where somebody was trying to kill him?"

An uncomfortable silence descended and Amanda found that she simply didn't have the words to try and explain what had so recently transpired. Glancing at Steve, she saw that he was so lost in his own thoughts that he might as well have been on the moon.

"Amanda, you know how important it is that I know the history here. I was only told that he'd suffered a suspected heart attack." Swanson took their silence as evasion. "But the bruises around his throat are consistent with strangulation and he has been struck around the head, possibly more than once." He looked at Amanda, as though seeing her properly for the first time. "And you were hurt too…"

She raised one hand to her split lip – where Jesse's flailing fist had caught her.

"I'm okay…" she murmured, tears filling her eyes as she recalled those dreadful events. She again glanced towards Steve; waiting for the explosion, for the outpouring of his wrath against Jesse, but the detective's face was set and he was staring at the floor between his feet.

"Amanda, why won't you tell me what happened?"

As the silence stretched, she had no choice but to find some sort of an answer.

"We're, uh… We're not entirely sure yet," she temporised; praying that Steve would continue to hold his silence and not blurt out something that might cause wild rumours to start flying around the halls of Community General. His previous comments about Jesse had probably done enough damage as it was.

"Alright, but if you're waiting to talk to Mark, then that's exactly what you'll be doing – waiting," the doctor responded, forced to put his own curiosity on hold. "He won't wake up for some hours yet and, even then, I'll be monitoring him closely before I'll allow him to be questioned."

Steve moved so suddenly that Amanda almost cried out in shock.

"I'm going back to the precinct," he growled, striding away from them. "Call me when my dad wakes up."

"Steve!" Amanda had to break into a trot to close the distance that was rapidly growing between them. "What..?"

"I'm gonna get some answers."

* * *

It had been three hours since Steve had accompanied his father to the hospital and then waited for his prognosis. Three hours during which his anger had continued to fester in his mind.

When, on returning to the precinct, he had parked his car, he had to sit outside with the engine dead in order to compose himself before going inside. It was a tremendous show of self-restraint, because his every instinct was screaming at him to storm in there and beat the living crap out of the man who had tried to kill his dad.

When he finally felt at least a little more under control, he headed back down to the holding cells. Mac was still on duty.

"He came round about a half hour ago," the custody officer told him. "I was gonna call but… How's Mark?" His reason for not calling was right there in that query.

"He had another heart attack." The words were snapped with infinite bitterness. "He was lucky – again." Then, realising that Mac was genuinely concerned, his tone softened: "They're keeping him in for a couple of days, but he's gonna be okay. Or as okay as we can hope for…"

"Look, Steve, you don't have to do this." Sympathy and empathy welled in the older cop's chest. He had lost his own father to heart disease some years before. "Someone else can…"

"Can what?" Anger again leapt to the fore. "Can ask my best friend why he tried to kill my father? His mentor? The man he looked on almost as a father himself? No, Mac. I really wanna hear this for myself." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Did you read him his rights?"

"Yeah, as soon as he was awake and aware."

"And he understood you?" Steve needed to be sure. "How did he react?"

"He didn't. He answered all of my questions – waiving the right to a phone call or an attorney and then he just… closed down. He curled up on the bunk and has been that way ever since."

"Take him to Interview Room One." Steve ruthlessly suppressed the compassion that was trying to force its way past his anger.

He could do this. He could interview a suspect in the most trying of circumstances. He'd done it before. He'd interrogated women who had finally flipped after years of abuse by their partners; parents – even grandparents – who had taken the law into their own hands when a loved one had fallen prey to a paedophile; and an unforgettable case of a doctor who had helped those desperate enough to crave euthanasia.

And he had done it all impartially and dispassionately. He could do it again now.

Mac reached for the phone on his desk, but Steve reached out with one hand and stopped him before he could make the call.

"I want him cuffed." He forced the words out and they left a nasty taste in his mouth. He saw the look that his colleague aimed at him and interpreted it easily. They had both seen the abrasions on Jesse's wrists. "Dammit, Mac!" he flared, covering his guilt with anger. "He just tried to kill my father. I don't give a damn if handcuffs are gonna make him a little uncomfortable."

"Sure, Steve."

"You wouldn't believe how hard he fought. I had to knock him out to stop him. I don't wanna have to go through that again." He silently wondered why he was trying so hard to justify his orders – or exactly who he was trying to convince.

Even as he argued with himself, Mac had made the necessary arrangements. Steve didn't even realise it was done until the Sergeant stepped out from behind the desk.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, utterly perplexed as Mac led the way towards the Interview Room. "What, you think I don't know the way?"

"I'm going in with you Steve," came the quiet response.

"There's no need. I can handle this!"

"I'm not saying that you can't." Mac's voice was the voice of reason. "But I really don't think you should be alone in there with him right now."

"He's right." A new voice entered the fray.

Steve groaned inwardly and then turned to face Captain Newman. He was uncomfortably aware that he was still very much in his superior's bad books. This was a complication that he didn't need.

Newman's next words, however, surprised him: "You said there was more going on here than Travis just going out and getting drunk and I guess this proves your point." The Captain folded his arms across his chest and an expression that looked suspiciously like a smirk quirked his lips: "And I think that now would be a good time to evaluate your interrogation skills."

"Um, Sir, I don't think…" Steve tried to protest.

"It wasn't a suggestion, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir." Grudgingly he opened the Interview Room door and allowed his superior to precede him through it.

It wasn't until he saw Jesse that he realised both Mac and his Captain had been right. He wasn't at all prepared to be alone with his former best friend.

Jesse sat slumped in a chair, his hands – as requested – cuffed behind his back. He looked anything but a threat. In fact, he looked completely broken. But Steve still had to resist the urge to grab him by the throat and shake an explanation from him. Newman's eyes drilling into his back was the only thing that prevented him from doing exactly that.

Then Jesse looked up at him and his blue eyes were awash with confusion. But, underlying that, Steve could detect a definite sense of guilt and self-loathing. The young doctor clearly remembered what he had done.

"You wanna tell me why, Jesse?"

Jesse seemed to shrink in on himself, slinking down in his chair in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. His gaze had again returned to the floor and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible: "I… I don't know…"

"You don't know," Steve repeated flatly, as he moved to perch on the corner of the table closest to Jesse. He was perversely pleased to see the younger man try to draw even further away from him. "So why don't you start by telling me what you do know? What, exactly, do you remember?"

"It was… It was like a nightmare…"

"It _was _a nightmare for my dad." Steve's hand slamming flat onto the table emphasised his words and almost caused Jesse to jump clean out of his chair. "He had another heart attack."

"Oh no… please no…" Jesse looked up again and, this time, only fear shone from his eyes. "Is he..?"

"Is he what, Jesse? Is he alive?" Steve jumped in when the young man seemed incapable of voicing his dread. "And what do you want the answer to be, Jesse?"

"I…" _Of course I want him to be alive – of course I do. _But he couldn't force the words past the tightness in his throat. "Please…"

"He's alive – no thanks to you," the detective hissed, not trying to keep the venom out of his tone. "But it was a close call and you're damned lucky that you're not sitting here facing a murder charge." He stood up and leaned over the smaller man, being deliberately intimidating. "So start talking."

* * *

Jesse felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare – one that he had no hope of ever waking up from. Steve was towering over him, demanding answers that he couldn't possibly give. And he was uncomfortably aware of Captain Newman glowering at him from the back of the room. The man intimidated him at the best of times – and this was a long, long way removed from the best of times.

But how could he hope to explain? How could he put into words what he could barely comprehend himself? He knew that he had attacked Mark – knew that he had tried to kill him. The memory stood out stark and clear in his mind.

But so did another memory – and it was a memory that was impossible. The cab driver… The talkative man still seemed larger than life in his mind and he could recall every word of the one-sided conversation. And yet he had driven into work on the day that had supposedly happened…

His car had been at Community General – Amanda had shown him the evidence. So how could he remember every single second of a journey that had never happened?

He shook his head in bemusement. He'd been arrested, handcuffed and interrogated – and yet all he could think of was a cab driver who was little more than a figment of his imagination.

"It wasn't real," he whispered.

"What wasn't real?" Steve jumped on words spoken so softly that he wondered if the tape had even picked them up. When he got no response, he again slammed his palm into the table. Anger seemed to be the best way to provoke a response – and it was easy for Steve to hold onto his.

"N… none of it…" Jesse stammered in response. "I mean… I mean all of it… The hot water and the coffee – there was salt in my coffee… And the face in the mirror and the cab driver… He can't have been real. But then he showed up at the hospital and I thought I was going crazy…"

"You _thought _you were going crazy? Is that was this is?" Steve leant in closer, deliberately invading personal space. "In case you're forgetting, you're here because you just tried to kill my father. You had your hands around his throat and were choking the life out of him. Are you telling me it was because you've lost your mind?"

"I don't…" Brief hope that the attack had been another frighteningly vivid conjuration of his mind was cruelly dashed. "I'm not… I mean, I remember – but I remember a lot of things… Things that didn't happen… Or maybe they did… I don't know… I don't know what's real any more…"

"Take a look around you, Jesse," Steve snapped, his voice dripping sarcasm. "That might give you a hint that you've done _something _wrong!"

Jesse looked up at him, his eyes wide and guileless. Then he tried to move and he stiffened as he met resistance – as if noticing the handcuffs for the first time. Tears welled in his eyes: "Steve?" he questioned, tremulously.

But Steve had had enough. These were the most trying of circumstances. At any other time, he might have felt sorry for the frightened and bewildered young man – but his mind was filled with images of the moment he had burst into the cell; of seeing his best friend attacking his father; of looking into his dad's still, lax face and fearing the worst.

And he looked down at his prisoner and no longer saw his close friend of many years – more family than friend – but he saw a potential murderer. He wasn't about to give that would-be killer any slack.

"You are under arrest for attempted murder," he said, his tone clipped and professional. "You've already been read your rights, so don't try to pull any crap with me. You refused an attorney – though you do still have the right to change your mind. Do you want to change your mind?"

"W… what?" Jesse blinked. Looking up at Steve was like looking up at a stranger. His mind slowly processed the question he'd been asked. "Umm… No…"

"Fine," Steve retorted. "So now you are going to answer my questions. In fact, I'll make it simple for you. I don't give a damn about mirrors and coffee and cab drivers. I don't even give a damn that you think you might be crazy. You tried to kill my father." His expression turned to stone and he leant in towards the other man so close that they almost touched. "All I want to know is 'why?'"

In the end, Steve had been forced to concede defeat – albeit temporary defeat. The interrogation had gone around in circles from then on – and a looming headache and increasing worry about his dad had caused him to call a reprieve.

Mac appeared at his first bidding and escorted Jesse back to his cell. Once they were alone, Steve turned to his Captain.

"So what was your evaluation on my interrogation techniques?" he asked, turning to black humour in the direst of circumstances. "Do I get my raise?"

"I should tell you to go home, check up on your dad and you don't come back here until I tell you otherwise," Newman snapped in response – not even cracking a smile at his man's words. "I shouldn't have let you do this."

"Sir…"

"When I got here, Sergeant McPherson was questioning your intention to interrogate the suspect alone. What do you think would have happened if I hadn't shown up when I did?"

"Mac would've gone in with me," Steve mumbled, knowing the answer to be a lie. He'd have pulled rank, if that's what it took. Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately – for him, the person who'd stopped him couldn't be pulled rank on.

"And what do you think would have happened if you'd have been alone in there with Travis?" Newman conveniently ignored the lie.

"I'd have…" Steve lowered his eyes – rage still burning through him. Then he raised his head and looked the Captain square in the eyes. "Mac would have gone in with me," he reiterated.

Newman glowered at him: "You won't be interrogating him again. I should take you off the case."

"You can't take me off the case!" Steve's fury, only ever lurking beneath the surface, again took control. "Dammit, there isn't even a case to build! It was me who stopped him, remember?"

Newman crossed his arms and stared at him impassively. He said nothing, but then he didn't need to. He just stared at his detective until his rant was over.

"I'm not just gonna let this lie!" Steve snapped – infuriated by his superior's lack of reaction.

"I'd be disappointed if you did," Newman retorted, dispassionately.

"What the hell are you talking about? One minute I'm kicked off the investigation, the next…"

"Like you said: what investigation?" the Captain overrode him – ignoring his disrespect. "This case is over and done. The kid's going down for attempted murder and could spend the rest of his life in jail. But you kept asking him 'why?' And I don't think that he can tell you that."

"So you're saying that's it?" Steve argued, incredulously. "You think that he just went crazy? Flipped out and decided to kill my dad?"

"I'm saying that there's more to this than we first thought," Newman responded, sagely. "You've missed something."

Steve grimaced inwardly at how 'we' had so abruptly changed into 'you' – but he had more important things to worry about. Newman's words about Jesse spending the rest of his life – or at least a great portion of it – in jail had had an instant and sobering effect. Inadvertently, his mind was drawn back to the short time that his friend had spent on remand for murder. It had been hell for him and was mute testimony to the fact that he'd never survive a month – let alone years – on the inside.

Steve felt torn. Part of him wanted to remain furious with Jesse for what he had done; to take everything at face value and believe the evidence that his own eyes had presented him with. That part didn't give a damn what happened to Jesse Travis.

But that part of him was very small indeed.

The rest of him – the instincts that made him the great cop that he was – demanded answers; demanded a truth that was more satisfying than the meagre facts that were presented to him.

It was that part that, naturally, won out. Too many things just didn't add up – not least the fact that it had happened at all. His detective's mind began to take over and it calmed the emotions that had been driving him for the past few hours. Finally starting to think like a cop, he mentally ticked off what he knew.

Jesse had been behaving strangely for the past few days. He wasn't where he was supposed to be and nobody knew how he had been spending his free time. He had been picked up stinking drunk and he looked as though he had been in a fight – and the Jesse he knew would never do either of those things. He had been handcuffed – a clear sign that he had struggled against arrest; another thing that Steve would never have expected from his mild-mannered friend. And then there were the other marks: the cuts and burns that could only be described as evidence of torture.

"Did the doctor ever get the chance to look him over?" he asked suddenly.

"The doctor?" Newman queried. "Wasn't Travis just in a bar brawl? A black eye and a couple of bruises don't normally warrant a full examination."

Steve paused before answering, his mind suddenly racing. Only he, his dad, Amanda and – possibly – Mac knew about the other injuries that Jesse had sustained. The abrasions on his wrists were easily explained away, but… Steve cut the thought off abruptly. He was jumping to conclusions – that those abrasions had been inflicted during Jesse's arrest – and that had not yet been established as fact. He wasn't normally so lax and vowed not to slip up again.

He forced himself to mentally step back from the situation and from the people involved. Instead, he asked himself what he would normally do on a case such as this. Yes, there would be an interrogation but, when that interrogation produced nothing, then he would seek out the facts. And he would exhaust every avenue until he succeeded in finding his answers. Jumping to conclusions was _never_ an option. And it was never something that he'd try to secure a conviction on – though he still had to convince himself that that was what he was trying to do. His sole aim – his focus – was seeking out the truth and he had finally recognised that it was not what he had first assumed it to be.

When he next looked up, his eyes burned into Newman's.

"I need to speak to the arresting officers," he stated, obviously fully firing on all cylinders again and he thought he detected a hint of a smile on his superior's face.

TBC…


	21. Trance 21

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-One.

Across the city at Community General, Amanda sat in silent vigil at Mark's bedside. Her dear friend looked as though he was sleeping peacefully, but she knew that the appearance was deceptive. Mark was heavily sedated, giving his body the chance to recover from the brutality that it had undergone.

His slumber – unnatural though it might have been – seemed peaceful and undisturbed by dreams. Amanda envied him that; though a part of her shied away from such selfishness. She should be grateful that he was enjoying such peace because he faced a nightmare reality when he awoke. And she shuddered inwardly when she wondered how he might react.

Her hand, again, strayed towards her swollen lip. She just couldn't stop touching it – even though it flared with pain each time that she did. The horrific scene insisted on replaying itself over and over again in her mind and she was having a hard time believing that it had ever been real. The pain reminded her that it was.

But still she was lost in turmoil. She didn't want to believe that Jesse would ever be capable of such a heinous act – and yet she had seen it for herself.

Unlike Steve, she didn't descend instantly into anger. Instead, she was lost in bewilderment. And, whenever she had been faced with a seemingly unsolvable mystery before, she had turned to her friends for assistance. Together they would sort through the facts, bounce around the ideas and – eventually – reach a conclusion. But one of her friends was in jail; another was the cop who'd arrested him; and the third…

She bit back a sigh and returned her attention to Mark. Nothing had changed and he still rested peacefully. Again, Amanda felt a surge of jealousy. She thought that she would never enjoy such a luxury again.

* * *

Jesse walked meekly back to his cell, guided by a surprisingly gentle hand on his elbow. After the ferocity he had faced from Steve, he hadn't expected to encounter any form of kindness. After all, most of the cops at the precinct knew Mark and wouldn't be impressed that an attempt had been made on his life.

As he trudged automatically along, his mind was whirling – replaying exactly what he had done and trying to put some feeling to the memory. It was frightening; almost as though he were replaying a scene from a movie because, though there was no longer any doubt in his mind that he had done what he'd been accused of, there was no emotion there either.

He must have felt something. There had to be some emotion driving him to such ferocity. He could even see himself striking out at Amanda and then struggling with Steve – but his feelings remained totally detached.

And he couldn't answer the one question that Steve had repeatedly thrown at him. He couldn't say why he'd done it. He couldn't even say what had been going through his mind – that memory wasn't there. If it weren't for the fact that he could see his own hands locked around Mark's throat, then he would have sworn that the whole thing was a mistake.

But he could see it. He could see every last damning second.

Thinking about it was only adding to the pain that pounded in his head. The nausea that accompanied it reminded him that he had also apparently gone on a drinking binge and now he was paying for it with the mother of all hangovers. But wherever he'd gone and whatever he'd done before his arrest – which was another frightening blank in his memory – remained totally elusive to him.

* * *

Sergeant Liam McPherson – known as Mac to all of his colleagues – swung the cell door shut behind his prisoner and locked it, worry deepening the creases on his lined face. Something was definitely wrong with the young man and he had been a cop for too long to just ignore the bad feeling that he had.

Jesse Travis didn't look like a potential killer – despite what Mac had witnessed for himself; despite the memory of how the kid had struggled and fought with Steve until it had taken a hefty punch to stop him. It still didn't feel right, mostly because of Travis's reactions – or lack thereof – since he'd regained consciousness. There had been no hint of the murderous rage that had seemingly possessed him; not even remorse, or fear or confusion. In fact, there had been absolutely nothing. And Mac had been left guarding the broken shell of a man that now stood on the other side of the bars.

At first, the seasoned cop had been furious with Travis – Mark Sloan was a familiar face around the precinct and was known to be an all round good guy. But he also knew Travis. Though not as frequent a visitor as Steve's dad, he had been around the precinct often enough for them to develop a nodding acquaintance – and his knowledge of the ebullient, if sometimes overly-excitable, young man didn't sit right with what he had witnessed. And Mac knew that if Steve just stepped back for long enough, then he would see the same thing.

So the seasoned officer successfully pushed his anger to one side and then quickly found that it turned into worry. The young man stood just inside the door of the cell – and it had taken a firm hand in the small of his back to get him that far – looking lost and bewildered, as though he had no idea as to where he was or what he should do. He hadn't even acknowledged the removal of the handcuffs. His arms had fallen limply to his sides and he had made no move to rub at his abraded wrists as would have been the natural reaction.

"Hey, kid," he said – unwilling to just leave him standing there like a zombie. "Why don't you try and get some rest? At least sit down."

Haunted blue eyes rose to briefly meet his, but the contact was fleeting and the dead gaze again lowered to the ground. But, much to Mac's relief, Travis did drift over to the bunk and lowered himself onto it.

The cop turned away, fully intending to head back to the desk to hand over his shift, but something about that momentary eye contact halted him in his tracks. He turned and peered back into the cell.

His prisoner was perched on the edge of the bunk, staring at nothing. Mac didn't like his expression one little bit. He'd seen it before, on prisoners who'd been driven by God only knew what to commit heinous crimes that their families hadn't believed them capable of. They looked as though they'd died on the inside – and when someone was dead on the inside…

Mac heaved out a sigh and quickly dragged a chair into the corridor outside the cell containing the young doctor. He made a quick call on his radio and then settled himself down for the duration. His shift was officially over, but he wasn't willing to simply walk away.

Suicide watch wasn't his favourite duty, but it went with the job.

* * *

A glance at the arrest records, a few words with the dispatch officer and the glowering presence of Captain Newman soon had Steve talking – via radio – to the two cops who had arrested Jesse the previous night. Unfortunately, the conversation was proving to be a difficult one.

Eddie Lewis and his partner, Linda Newbury, had both instantly gone on the defensive at what they saw as Steve's implication that they had somehow deliberately harmed the young man they had picked up drunk and almost comatose. So Steve was forced to hurriedly back-pedal and rephrase the question which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, might have been worded a little gruffly.

"Okay, listen," he said, his tone much calmer than it had been. Antagonising his colleagues was not the way to get answers. "All I want to know is whether you needed to cuff him. Yes or no – that's all."

"Cuff him?" It was Newbury's voice that responded. "That guy didn't need handcuffs. Hell, he fell asleep in the back of the squad car. If anything's happened to him, it happened…"

"Before you found him," Steve murmured, mostly to himself. "I don't suppose you noticed…"

"Lieutenant Sloan, he was a D&D." Lewis's more aggressive voice cut in. "We picked him up and were gonna book him. It was the custody officer who insisted on calling you first. We were by the book."

"No-one's doubting you were, Lewis," Steve answered on a sigh. His talk with the uniforms had only raised even more questions in his tired mind.

He was horribly aware of Newman still hovering over him and quickly sought a plan of action that might get the investigation moving.

"I need to talk to Jesse again," he eventually said, inwardly wincing in anticipation of the protests that were bound to follow.

"No you don't." Newman's response was utterly predictable.

"I said 'talk to' not 'interrogate'." Steve had his argument already planned, even though he feared it would be futile. He was right.

"And I said no." Now there was unmistakable annoyance in the Captain's voice. He had cut his detective a lot of slack over the past few hours, but that was about to change. "It's not open for discussion."

Steve was tempted to push his luck just a little further but, after a brief internal debate, common sense prevailed. He knew Captain Newman well and also knew exactly how far he could push him. And it was clear that he had reached – if not already overstepped – that limit. But nor could he just switch off, go home and then try to pick up the pieces some other time. That wasn't who he was.

But, as Steve knew his Captain, so Newman knew him in return.

"Travis isn't going anywhere," he said into the silence. "And I don't see anything that's changed that will make him more talkative right now. I'll get the doctor to look in on him and then we'll start afresh when we have more information."

"You're taking a kinda hands-on approach to this, aren't you?" Steve muttered dourly.

"Sloan, your father might be a bug up my butt most of the time, but we go back a long way. I don't like the idea of someone trying to kill him – and damned near succeeding." Newman paused to glower at his star detective. "And if you ever tell him that, then I'll have your badge."

* * *

The Captain personally ensured that Steve actually left the precinct. He knew what his man was capable of and wouldn't have put it past him to try and go behind his superior's back. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

Then he collected the on-duty doctor and made his way down to the holding cells, where he realised that any attempt by Steve to sneak in unnoticed would have been futile anyway.

"Mac?" he queried, as the Sergeant got to his feet – surprised to see him still on duty.

"Just keeping an eye on him, Sir," the seasoned officer shrugged. "He seemed a bit… I dunno, but I figured it wouldn't do any harm."

Newman nodded in tacit approval. Mac was a veteran, even if he had chosen never to rise up very far through the ranks, and the Captain was happy to trust his judgement if he considered Travis to be a suicide risk: "How's he doing?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the cell.

"Hard to tell." Mac shrugged again. "He hasn't moved since I put him in there."

After another nod towards the custody officer, Newman turned his attention towards the doctor – Leighton Farthing.

"Ready, Doc?" he asked, watching Mac unlock the cell door. Then, noticing Farthing's frown, he explained: "The last time this kid was alone with a doctor, he tried to kill him. I'll be going in with you."

"I heard about Doc Sloan…" Farthing suppressed a shudder. He had heard of both of the doctors involved – even knew them, though not familiarly. The entire situation seemed impossible and he knew that he had no reason to fear Jesse Travis. Then he sighed. Stranger things had happened – even if he was hard pressed to think of one offhand: "After you, Captain."

Newman led the way into the cell – aware that Mac was also accompanying them. He made no comment. He had heard how violent Travis had been and was far too prudent to refuse extra back-up.

Travis didn't even glance up as they approached. In fact, he gave no sign at all that he was even aware of their presence. He just continued to stare at the stained concrete floor between his feet.

"Alright, Travis," Newman snapped, stopping just short of the prisoner. "The doctor's gonna take a look at you now." He almost added a warning as to what would happen if he were to try anything – but it was pointless. The young man seemed virtually catatonic. With a mental shrug – this really wasn't his area of expertise – he stood to one side.

Farthing didn't say a word, but just dropped into a crouch in front of the young man. He reached out and gently turned the blonde head to one side; scrutinising the bruise that coloured his temple. Another gentle touch raised the prisoner's head and brought into view more discolouration around his jaw. With a slight shake of his head, the older doctor reached for his penlight. Even shining the thin beam into flat and empty blue eyes didn't provoke any more response than the reflexive dilation of the pupils.

"Is this everything?" Farthing asked, glancing up at Newman.

"Not by a long shot, doc," the Captain growled in response. "On his body, too."

Much the same way as Steve had, Farthing carefully eased the young man's jacket open. His tattered shirt did nothing to hide the ugly marks that marred his torso.

There was complete silence in the cell for a long moment as the three men looked at the vivid burns and cuts. Then Farthing hissed out a breath.

"What the hell happened to him?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that, doc," came Newman's sardonic response.

* * *

Steve didn't go home – there was no force on this Earth that could have made him. Instead, he drove straight to the hospital, despite the fact that it was now mid-afternoon and his recent lack of sleep was beginning to weigh heavily on him. But even his exhaustion couldn't stop his mind from buzzing with questions and trying to process the little information that he had.

His anger still lurked, just below the surface, as he couldn't shake the images that were constantly being replayed in his head. Jesse had tried to kill his father. That was a fact – and the only fact that did not hold even the slightest hint of doubt. He had witnessed it; he had prevented his father's murder. He could still feel the impact of his fist slamming into Jesse's jaw. And it was that one solid, unshakable fact that was blinding him to everything else.

Yes, there was more going on than Jesse simply losing his head and attacking Mark. Yes, there was still a mystery to be solved. Who had hurt Jesse so badly? And why? And how had they driven him into taking such drastic action against a man who he had once confessed he wished was his own father?

Steve was grimly determined to get answers to his questions, but a small part of him felt that – at the end of the day – those answers didn't really matter. A truth would emerge eventually; reasons would be found; an explanation given. But none of it would take away the simple fact that kept returning to plague him: the fact that it had actually happened.

Nothing would ever take that away.

Walking into the hospital was something of a strange experience for Steve. He had been awake for hours – and to see the general everyday bustle in the corridors of Community General threw him for something of a loop. His body kept insisting that it was time he went to bed – but his eyes, were telling him otherwise.

He ignored his own needs and headed straight to his dad's room. Even though there was a strong possibility that Mark would still be sleeping under sedation, he needed to see him. He arrived there just as Doctor Swanson was coming through the door.

"Doc?" Steve asked, not knowing why he was surprised to see him there. "My dad?"

"Still resting comfortably," Swanson responded – but there was an edge to his voice that warned Steve not to change that status quo. "So is Doctor Bentley. She finally fell asleep about an hour ago."

"I won't wake them." Steve easily interpreted the underlying message in the doctor's words. "I just… I just need to take a look in on him."

"I understand." Swanson's attitude softened slightly. He knew how close father and son were. "But please, don't disturb them."

"I won't." It was easy for him to make that promise, because it was the last thing that he intended to do. God knew, his dad needed to recover – and Amanda had been on the go almost as long as he had.

With a reassuring smile, he eased the door open and slipped inside.

The room was in darkness, the blinds drawn and the lights turned down low. Steve quickly closed the door behind him to prevent too much of the harsh light of the corridor from spilling into the room.

Even in the dimness, he could easily make out Amanda's form, curled up on an armchair and covered with what looked like a standard hospital blanket. Steve smiled faintly at the sight. An armchair wasn't a standard piece of furniture in Community General's rooms and he figured that Ray Swanson might have had something to do with his friend being able to rest so comfortably – instead of attempting to sleep in one of the torture devices that laughingly passed as hospital chairs.

Then he idly wondered why no-one had ever done the same for him.

He'd kept bedside vigils before, but it had always been on one of the too-small, plastic chairs. But then he figured that he never kept such a vigil with any intention of sleeping and he would have refused such comfort even if it had been offered to him. The fact that he sometimes had dozed off – and then paid for it through his stiff neck and aching spine – was completely beside the point.

Steve quietly moved one of those very chairs closer to his father's bed. Then he turned it around and straddled it, resting his arms against its back as he looked at the older man.

_Older. _Steve fixated on that one word. His dad looked older than he'd ever seen him before. Even under sedation and out of immediate danger, there was a greyness to his face that he had never noticed before and a vulnerability about him that shocked him to his very core.

Mark Sloan was anything but vulnerable. He was strong and vital and always so _alive. _Except that very night, they had been cruelly reminded of his mortality. Again.

For the time being at least, the circumstances didn't even matter. A second heart attack might have been triggered by anything – and at any time. It was just a stark reminder that his father wouldn't live forever, even if he did seem larger than life sometimes. And that in all likelihood – unless his chosen career took him first – Steve would have to mourn him one day.

TBC…


	22. Trance 22

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**I really wish I could pack up work and spend my life writing, but I can't. I hope this update proves to be worth the wait. Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Two.

Jesse lay back on the bunk when the doctor requested he do so. He had already removed his jacket and the remnants of his shirt, but each action had been performed automatically – without thought or feeling.

He had descended into shock as his mind was completely unable to comprehend the memories that kept replaying in his head. He had tried to kill Mark. If it hadn't been for Steve then he would have succeeded.

Guilt and remorse enshrouded him and his eyes stared at nothing as he felt gentle hands begin to apply soothing cream to his wounds. Antiseptic cream, he guessed, to combat the infection that he would otherwise surely succumb to.

He didn't deserve such treatment; didn't deserve the kindness and compassion of this anonymous doctor. They should have been looking at him with contempt and revulsion – the way that he was looking at himself; they should have locked him up and thrown away the key; to have left his wounds to fester and rot; to allow the infection to run its course. They should have let him die.

But he didn't try to fight them. The doctor was only doing his job, after all. And, even in these circumstances, he would have done the same thing. It went against his oath to refuse medical attention to someone who needed it.

His oath. First, do no harm. He had locked his hands around Mark's throat and put all of his strength into choking the life out of him. He had hit Amanda. He vividly remembered the sound of his flesh striking hers – and her cry of pain. First, do no harm.

What he had done went against everything that he believed in; everything that made him who he was. He wondered how he could possibly live with himself, carrying the weight of such guilt in his heart. The answer was simple: he couldn't.

The doctor was talking but Jesse wasn't listening, he was too lost in his own self loathing. His pain was easing, gradually fading until the fierce burning became nothing more than a dull ache at the edge of his awareness. Even the nausea that had plagued him had been reduced to a memory.

And it was wrong. He should be made to suffer – though no amount of pain would ever be enough to atone for what he had done. A lifetime in jail and eternity in hell would never be able to purge him of his guilt.

A distant part of him that remained semi-aware felt a hand grasp hold of his arm and turn it. Seconds later he felt a light prick on the inside of his elbow. He barely had time to consciously register the fact that he'd been given an injection before all reasoning fled and pure instinct took over.

His body suddenly tensed with remembered pain and he jerked his arm free, his eyes closing in anticipation of the liquid fire that would pour through his veins until it devoured his entire body.

There was no memory to accompany the instinct, but his mind was screaming – _not again! Please God, not again!_

Not enough of him remained lucid to realise that his voice also screamed those same words as he thrashed about on the bunk, fighting the hands that sought to still him.

And he was still struggling and crying when a second hastily applied injection forced him into oblivion.

"What the hell was that?" Newman demanded, once the drama had passed and his prisoner relaxed back onto the bunk.

"The injection seemed to freak him out," Farthing answered, sounding shaken himself. "Though I've never known a doctor to be scared of needles before."

Newman frowned disapprovingly at the doctor's morbid humour, but didn't pass comment. His attention was focussed solely on the now slumbering young man. Twice now he had been in the presence of a doctor – and twice he had reacted extremely, albeit very differently.

It had to be more than a coincidence. The connection was staring them right in the face. A more difficult question to answer was 'why'. What could possibly have happened to provoke such behaviour? And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?

Travis still needed medical attention – even as he slept, Farthing was carefully wrapping his abraded wrists – and the other wounds would need more treatment before they healed. But if Travis was going to 'freak out' – as Farthing had so ineloquently put it – every time he was in contact with another doctor, his care would only continue to cause problems.

Newman's frown deepened. He knew Travis – even if the kid did grate on his nerves most of the time – and he didn't relish what he was about to do, but he could see no other choice.

"Let's get him moved to the infirmary," he said.

Neither of the other men showed any surprise at his words. They both knew what he had in mind – and were familiar with the specialist beds the infirmary held.

* * *

Steve awoke with a start and jerked upright, not knowing what it was that had disturbed him. Then he yelped and his hand flew up to massage the crick in his neck that had suddenly, and painfully, made itself known to him.

"Sshh!"

The voice came from behind him and he turned awkwardly to see Amanda regarding him with the briefest hint of humour in her dark eyes.

"I'd have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now," she said softly, the same mild humour echoed in her voice. "Those aren't designed for sleeping on."

"I didn't mean to…" Steve mumbled. "What time is it?" Even as he asked, he negated her need to answer by squinting at his watch. It was after six. "Dammit," he swore. He hadn't intended to waste the entire afternoon.

"Doctor Swanson was just here," Amanda told him. "He said that Mark should stay asleep for a few more hours yet." She offered him a sympathetic smile. "Why don't you go home and get some proper rest?"

"I can't. I have to…" He glanced back towards his father, reluctant to talk about Jesse in his presence – even if he couldn't consciously hear him. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him. "I have to get back to the precinct."

"Steve…" Amanda tried to protest. Steve looked like hell and the last thing she needed was someone else to worry about.

"It's important, Amanda." He looked at her earnestly. "Something's going on – something more than I think any of us realise yet. Hell, even Newman's taking a personal interest in this one." He eyes flicked back towards his father. "Will you call me when he wakes up?"

"Of course I will, honey."

She watched Steve head towards the door, wanting desperately to ask for more details – wanting to ask how Jesse was. But the words stuck in her throat. The sight of Mark lying so still and vulnerable and her own pain – both physical and emotional – had set an internal battle raging within her. And she hadn't been able to sort out exactly what she was feeling about Jesse. She didn't try very hard – afraid of what she might find.

So she let Steve go without saying another word. As soon as the door closed behind him, she dropped her head into her hands: "Find out the truth, Steve," she whispered to herself. "Please, before this destroys all of us."

* * *

Steve headed straight to the holding cells when he returned to the precinct, only to find that Mac had finally gone home and Jesse was no longer in his cell.

"So where the hell is he?" he demanded of the hapless cop who now manned the desk. "I was only gone a few hours!"

"It just says that he was transferred to the infirmary, under the care of Doctor Farthing," the young officer answered. "It doesn't give a reason why."

Steve's lips thinned and he shook his head, worry beginning to gnaw at his gut. He wondered if he had underestimated the severity of Jesse's injuries. Then he stopped and asked himself why he cared. The answer to that one came to him with surprising ease: he had told Amanda the truth when he'd said that there was more going on than at first appeared. This was something major and Jesse was caught right in the middle.

Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he reached his destination. Then he groaned inwardly when he saw Captain Newman standing in the doorway looking in. Didn't the man ever sleep?

"Sir," he said, making his presence known. "What happened?"

"Doctor Travis had another…" Newman paused, seeking the right word. "Episode. Tell me, Sloan, what would drive a man – a doctor at that – to react violently and unpredictably in the mere presence of another doctor?"

"He attacked somebody else?" Steve demanded, incredulously. Jesse had seemed totally broken, totally incapable of any act of violence, the last time he had seen him.

"Not attacked, as such," the Captain answered, still keeping himself between Steve and the door. "He was fine until Doctor Farthing stuck a needle in him and then he totally lost it." He looked at his detective frankly. "Well?"

"Huh?" Steve started and then realised that his superior was still waiting for an answer to his original question. "I dunno… Unless, maybe it was a doctor who inflicted those cuts and burns."

"And his reaction to the injection?" Newman smiled without humour. "I'll give you a clue. He was screaming: 'not again' over and over."

"Not again?" Steve's eyes widened as he absorbed this latest piece of information. "Somebody's been drugging him?"

"So it would appear. We're having blood work done now."

"Is he awake?" Steve demanded, trying to see past the Captain and into the infirmary.

"No and he's not likely to be for quite some time. The doctor had to sedate him." Newman laid one hand on his man's arm, preventing him from entering the room. "He was a danger to both the doctor and himself. Sergeant McPherson had him pegged as a suicide risk – and rightly so in my opinion – so we've taken precautions."

"Ah, hell." Steve bowed his head briefly, knowing exactly what the other man was referring to. A part of him was glad that he had been forewarned. It would have been one hell of a shock to walk in there and see his friend – or, possibly, his former friend – not only injured, but also strapped to his bed.

But even forewarned, he found that he was not as prepared as he'd thought he was as he made his way towards the only patient currently housed in the infirmary.

The passage of time had caused the young man's bruises to darken even more and the elliptical shapes of fingertips were clearly visible on his jaw. A light blanket covered the worst of the marks on his body and the ones still visible – one high on his collarbone, another on his arm – had been treated and dressed. His clothes were gone and had been replaced with a standard medical gown.

But none of this earned more than a passing glance from the detective. His gaze fell on the leather straps that secured wrists and ankles to the bed frame and then he found that he couldn't look away. Even as sickness churned in his stomach at the sight – as he thought of the shock and humiliation Jesse would endure when he eventually awoke – his eyes remained riveted on those bindings.

Somebody had drugged him and, from the looks of his face, getting drunk may well not have been a voluntary act either. Somebody had tortured him and scarred him and left him dumped in an alleyway. And _they_ – his friends – had him restrained like a common criminal. Or a mental patient.

Feeling rage – for once not directed at the young man who lay before him – surge through him, Steve spun away from the distressing sight. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides as he physically fought the urge to tear his friend free from his restraints.

"They're a necessary precaution, Steve." Newman's voice, though gentler than he was accustomed to, did little to calm him.

"It wasn't his fault." He ground the words out through gritted teeth.

"Do you want to tell me how you reached that conclusion, detective?"

And those were the words that reached him. Captain Newman, forcing him to put emotion to one side and get back on with what he did best: solving the mystery. He began to sort through the facts in his head – and then was surprised to discover just how clearly he was starting to see things.

"He'd been missing for hours," he explained – trying to put the events into some sort of chronological order. "He left the hospital at four pm and nobody saw or heard from him until he was picked up by Lewis and Newbury. That was at around two-thirty am. Somebody had him."

"And he wasn't just getting smashed in a bar somewhere?" Newman interjected, forcing his detective to explain every step of his deduction process.

"That's what I thought at first, even if it is the last thing I'd expect Jesse to do – no matter how bad a day he'd had."

"So he'd had a bad day?"

"No – that's just it." Steve thought back to his conversations with Amanda. "He was pretty wiped, but I think that this – whatever this is – has been going on for a couple of days. He's constantly been exhausted. At first I thought that he'd been pulling extra shifts at Bob's, but I checked and he hasn't. He hasn't been anywhere we'd expect him to be and he hasn't so much as called the beach house."

"Hardly damning evidence," the Captain cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"It is when he was my dad's doctor and he was recuperating at home." The logic was clear in his mind and Newman nodded, conceding the point. "Then there's the bruises," Steve pressed on, directing his gaze to the subject of their conversation. "The ones around his jaw. Those are fingerprints. Somebody has held him violently there – perhaps forcing his mouth open."

"And perhaps forcing alcohol down his neck?"

"Exactly." Steve had, eventually, reached the same conclusion. "Jesse doesn't drink. I'll have uniform check it out, but I'm willing to bet that we'll get no reported bar fights involving anybody matching Jesse's description."

"Just because it wasn't reported doesn't mean that it didn't happen." Newman's admonishment was a reminder of his need to be thorough. There was a strong chance that the young doctor would still find himself facing charges of attempted murder.

"I'm also willing to bet that you won't find a single witness who would place Jesse in any bar – let alone in a brawl. The booze was forced on him."

It was an inevitable question that followed: "So if that's the case, why did they need to drug him?"

"Or torture him." Steve added to the second-guessing of his own theory.

"Okay, Sloan, you've convinced me that Travis was more than a simple D&D." Newman wasn't about to cut him any slack. "But that's not even close to being enough."

"The alcohol. The drugs. The torture." Steve spoke slowly, trying to keep a hold of his emotions. "Somebody did this – and they did it in order to make him attack my dad."

"The theory's sound. You might even have a shred of evidence." The Captain looked at him and there was a challenge in his eyes. "But you still have to prove it."

"Sir…" It was time to stall, time to ask for a favour. He was out of luck.

"Travis has been formally arrested and charged with attempted murder," Newman reminded him, grimly. "And there are protocols. I'll arrange for Travis to have a psych evaluation, but sooner or later he will face arraignment and then I fully expect him to be held on remand awaiting trial."

"But what about his mental state? He can't…" Steve tried to protest, now firmly believing his theory.

"That's what the psych evaluation is for," Newman scowled. "But you also need to consider the alternatives. If he's not deemed to be fully compos mentis, then his future isn't going to be all that rosy either."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing exactly how it felt to be caught between a rock and a hard place. Jesse mentally unstable and unable to stand trial or Jesse sane. The outcome was going to be the same. The evidence against him was overwhelming – hell, there was no doubt that he was guilty. Steve had witnessed the events with his own eyes.

So, institutionalised or jail. That was all that the young doctor had to look forward to. Unless Steve could come up with some answers – and fast.

He knew that Jesse had been kidnapped; knew that he had been forced to do what he had done. What he didn't know was how. What could possibly force the gentle young man to do something so heinous – so totally out of character? What could force him to attempt murder? And, even if he did find an answer, how the hell was he supposed to prove it?

His cell phone rang then – its tone shockingly loud in the subdued environment. He fumbled for it, momentarily forgetting that the patient's – he could no longer think of him as a prisoner – slumber was drug induced.

"Sloan here." His response was automatic, almost conditioned.

"_Steve? You should get back here."_ He instantly recognised Amanda's voice and his heart turned to ice in his chest. But, before he could even begin to fear the worst, she continued: _"Your dad just woke up."_

TBC…


	23. Trance 23

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Three.

Steve half expected Newman to insist on accompanying him to the hospital, but it never happened – not that he would have wasted any time arguing about it even if he had. The Captain hadn't said a word when Steve relayed the information, even as he headed for the door. Once in his car, he threw procedures out of the window and set his sirens wailing as he broke every speed limit racing back to the hospital.

He parked haphazardly and never gave a damn – and it was his haste, that bordered on panic, that brought home to him just how scared he had been. He needed to see his father awake and aware – and not rely on the word of some doctor that he really was going to be alright. He needed to hear his father's voice because only that would be enough to fully displace the terror that had held him from the moment he had burst into Jesse's cell.

But his needs were going to have to wait because, as he approached his father's room, he could see Amanda waiting outside – and it looked as though she was there specifically to stop him from going in.

"Amanda, what's going on?" he demanded when that did, in fact, turn out to be the case.

"It's okay, Steve," she hurriedly assured him. "Ray's just giving him a quick check up – and is probably reading him the riot act as to what he should and shouldn't do."

"He already knows that." Disappointment at being made to wait made his tone sharp. "This wasn't his fault."

"I'm sorry." Amanda's eyes dropped to the floor. "How's..?" _Jesse. _But again, his name remained unspoken. "How's everything?"

"Complicated," he snapped, trying futilely to see through the closed blinds of his dad's room.

"Steve, I'm sure they won't be long." Amanda easily guessed the reason for his abruptness and shrugged it off without comment. "I just… I wondered what you'd found out…"

"Everything and nothing." Steve scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly, but before he could elaborate on his cryptic response, the door opened and Ray Swanson stepped out into the hallway.

"Look, I know you're eager to go and see him," he said, addressing Steve directly. "But before you do, I have to warn you: Mark is still very weak. I want you to watch what you say to him and don't let him get excited or agitated."

Steve nodded, but bit his lip as he did so. He fully intended to follow those instructions, but it was going to be difficult given the circumstances.

"You'll also find that he tires very easily and he is fairly groggy," the doctor went on. "Don't worry, that's just because of his medication. And, please, try to keep it short. He really does need to rest."

"Sure, doc." Now he was so close to getting to see his father, Steve found it easy to comply. No further instructions were forthcoming, so he pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room.

Mark was sitting propped up by a mound of pillows. Monitors and equipment surrounded him, with tubes and wires still connecting him to them. Steve moved closer to him, a warm smile touching his lips. Blue eyes fluttered open and the smile was returned.

"Hey." Steve perched on the edge of the bed, leaving the chair for Amanda. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I had a heart attack." A sad half-smile accompanied his words.

Amanda reached out and carefully took hold of his hand: "You're going to be just fine," she smiled. "You just need to take things easy for a while."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

Mark's response had Steve and Amanda exchanging a worried glance. It was the detective who next spoke: "Do you remember what happened, dad?"

"I…" Mark hesitated, reaching up with his free hand and rubbing absently at his throat. "Did… Was I attacked?"

"Yeah, dad." Steve found that he couldn't meet his father's piercing gaze and his eyes dropped to the bedclothes. "But I don't want you to worry about that. I…"

"Amanda, your face!"

Hearing the shock in the older man's voice, Amanda dabbed gently at her swollen lip: "I'm fine, Mark. It's nothing," she assured him with a smile.

"You were attacked, too?" There was a look of complete bewilderment on his face. "It's all very hazy," he confessed.

"That's okay, dad," Steve stepped in, worried that Mark was beginning to get too agitated. "The doctor said you might be a bit groggy. It's to be expected."

"Of course it is," Mark sighed, briefly closing his eyes. Something Steve had said had caused a stray memory niggling at the back of his mind. Something was most definitely way off kilter – but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Then it came to him: the doctor. "Why has Ray Swanson taken over my care?" he asked, cracking his eyes open.

"Mark, you really shouldn't be worrying about…" Amanda tried to change the subject but, under medication or not, Mark was not about to let go.

"Where's..?"

"Dad." Steve cut him off the second time. This conversation was inevitable, but he wasn't quite ready to break the news just yet. "Please, just don't try to force it."

But both he and Amanda were suddenly made aware that their efforts to keep Mark calm were totally in vain. The older man's eyes closed again and this time, the action was accompanied by a sudden and dramatic paling to his skin.

"Dear God, I remember." His voice was a strained whisper. "But why? Why would Jesse try to kill me?"

Steve's shoulders slumped. He knew that the timing was all wrong – that his dad shouldn't be doing this so soon after waking up. But he also knew that there was no way that he would possibly get any rest with this hanging over him. And, in all honesty, he did need any information that Mark might be able to provide.

"Somebody's hurt him, dad." He spoke quietly, keeping his anger out of his voice, even though it still raged inside him. "They hurt him badly."

"I remember the scars," Mark responded. "The burns… Why, Steve? He didn't think… He can't have thought that I had anything to do with those…"

"I don't know what he was thinking – I'm not sure that even he does. But it gets worse." Steve took a deep breath before continuing: "We think that he might have been drugged – he freaked out just at the sight of a needle and… Dad, did you try to give him an injection at all?"

"I don't… No, I don't think I did…"

"Mark, are you okay?" Amanda leant forwards, concerned by the hesitance in his voice.

"It's just… It's so hard to remember the details." He closed his eyes in an effort to aid the memory. "All I can see is Jesse… His eyes…"

"Easy, dad." Steve also leant in closer. "It's gonna be okay." The words were feeble and he silently wondered how anything could ever be okay again – but he needed to calm his father down.

"I'm alright." Mark found another smile for them. "I'm just so confused." He remembered what Steve had asked him. "But I am almost certain that I never tried to give Jesse an injection."

Steve sighed to himself – so the obvious answer was out of the window and it was time to move on: "We also think that he didn't get drunk voluntarily. There are bruises – finger shaped bruises – on his jaw."

Amanda gave a small, sad sigh when she heard those words. She had known that there had to be some explanation, other than Jesse doing something so out of character – but nor could she find any comfort in the truth.

"Why would anyone do that to Jesse?" she wondered, almost inaudibly. Now her own guilt was starting to surface – guilt at having been afraid to confront her feelings about Jesse; guilt at ever having feared that she might hate him.

"To make him attack me." Mark answered, equally quietly.

"That's the only conclusion that we've been able to come up with so far," Steve agreed. "But we've no idea as to how they did it, or who it was. Did Jesse say anything to you? Anything at all?"

Mark's brow furrowed in concentration and he was silent for a long, long moment. "I'm sorry, Steve," he said, eventually. "It's all just a blur."

"That's alright, dad." Steve was quick to assuage him of the guilt that was so obvious in his voice. "We'll figure it out."

"How's Jesse doing now?" Amanda asked – and her face seemed suddenly pinched and drawn. She couldn't believe that it had taken her so long to ask so vital a question. She instantly knew that she wasn't going to like the answer when the detective quickly lowered his gaze.

"He's… not so great," he admitted, eventually. "He's pretty much withdrawn and… He knows what he did, but it's like it was a bad dream for him." He closed his eyes, briefly. "He had a hard time believing that it was real."

"My God," Amanda murmured. "Steve, those wounds… Has he been treated?"

"Of course he has." It was the only positive answer that he had been able to give, but he still took no pleasure from it. "He was moved to the infirmary and…" His mind shied away from the image of the straps that currently bound his friend. "And when I left, he was sleeping under sedation."

"You mean he's still in jail?" Mark demanded. "Steve, you have to get him out of there."

"If only it were that simple," his son responded, bleakly.

"Steve…"

"I'm doing everything I can, dad. You've got to trust me on that."

"You know I do, but…"

"But nothing." Amanda came to Steve's rescue when Mark tried to argue again. "We will get to the bottom of this, but you need to rest."

It was true – the older man was starting to look fatigued and his eyelids were drooping, even as he fought to stop them.

"Amanda's right," Steve insisted. "That doctor will have my hide if he thinks I've been letting you overdo things."

"Talking about things isn't…" A huge yawn interrupted whatever Mark was going to say and he had the good grace to look at his two visitors sheepishly. "Maybe I am a little tired. But you'll keep me up to date?"

"Like I'd have any choice," his son murmured in response. "I have to get back to the precinct. I'll be back later."

Mark merely nodded drowsily, his eyes already slipping shut.

"And I'll be back in just a few minutes," Amanda whispered, leaning forwards to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. But, by the time she said those words, Mark had already returned to sleep.

Steve was surprised by what she said – she had seemed bound and determined to maintain her bedside vigil – but his surprise soon dissipated when he headed to the door and she determinedly followed him.

"Okay, Steve, now tell me the truth," she hissed, pulling the door closed behind her.

"The truth?" the detective echoed, genuinely perplexed. "What, you think I was lying in there? You think I could have made that up?"

"Alright, so maybe that was the wrong word." Amanda folded her arms across her chest, determined not to be fobbed off. "Maybe I should have asked for the unsanitised version."

Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache threaten. Then he let out a long, drawn out sigh.

"Jesse's been charged with attempted murder and I can't do anything to get him off those charges," he confessed, not daring to look at her because he dreaded what he'd see on her face. "Not without some concrete evidence."

"But, Steve, there is evidence," the pathologist protested. "What you just told us…"

"Was all conjecture and theory. Our best chance at the moment is the blood tests. If we can find something in there, then we'll definitely know that we're on the right lines. The rest of it…" He shook his head. "It would help if Jesse could give us some sort of a statement. But, if he remembers anything, then he's not talking."

"Maybe you're just not asking him the right way." There was no accusation in her voice, but there was a hint of _knowing. _

Steve felt colour rise to his cheeks as he remembered how he'd interrogated his supposed best friend, but Amanda didn't allow him to dwell on it: "Why don't you let me try?" she suggested.

"No." His response was vociferous and adamant. He was not going to let Amanda see Jesse in his current state: not when he was strapped to a bed, whether that precaution was for his own safety or not. And he couldn't let her talk to him in an interview room, because then he would have to insist on handcuffs. No matter where the blame lay, no matter what theories he had come up with, he couldn't take the chance of a similar incident to the two that had already happened.

"Steve…"

"That's not an option, Amanda." He had known that she would try to argue and was ready for her. "Look, if you wanna help then you can run your own blood tests; see if you can find anything that our guys might miss."

"Of course. Get me a sample and I'll make it a priority." Her hands moved to her hips. "But…"

"No 'buts' Amanda. Listen to me." He grasped hold of her shoulders for emphasis. "This isn't some case of mistaken identity, or a frame-up where we know that Jesse's innocent. This time we know that he's guilty. And no matter what else we might know, or we might find out, he did try to kill my father."

Amanda's hand shot to her mouth as the truth was so brutally spelled out to her. She flinched as she inadvertently caught her split lip – and the pain only reinforced that truth. Jesse had done that to her.

"So what's going to happen to him?" she asked in a small voice.

"I don't know, honey." He couldn't think of anything to say that might make her feel better – and he certainly wasn't going to lie to her. "As soon as he's… able, he'll be assessed by a psychiatrist and then we'll just take it from there. In the meantime, I've got to find some proof that there was an outside influence forcing him to act the way that he did."

"And if you can't?"

"I will, Amanda," Steve swore fervently. "I promise you that."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amanda had procured a second promise from Steve before he left the hospital: that he would take the time to get something to eat. He was certain that coffee and a Danish hadn't been what she'd had in mind, but she hadn't gone into specifics, and that was all that he had time for. Besides the caffeine and sugar would give him a much needed energy boost.

He ate on the go – something else which he knew would have only won disapproval – and he binned his Styrofoam coffee cup even as he stalked down the corridors that led to the infirmary.

Newman was still in there and he was deep in conversation with Doctor Farthing. They were both seemingly engrossed in a plain brown file that the doctor held. The Captain had his back to Steve, but when he spoke, his words were directed towards the detective: "It's about time you got back." He didn't waste time asking how Mark was – Steve's very presence answered that question: "Aren't you supposed to be leading this investigation?"

"Captain." Steve had long since got used to Newman's seeming ability to see through the back of his head – and his characteristic gruffness. "You might want to say it's none of my business, but don't you ever go home?"

"You're right, Sloan. It is none of your business." Newman raised one eyebrow. "Now, do you want to know what the doctor found out, or shall I pass this whole file onto somebody else?"

"I'm on it." Steve reached for the file and began scanning its contents, even as the doctor explained them to him.

"I found three separate puncture wounds on Doctor Travis's upper arm – unrelated to the antibiotic and sedative that I administered to him." Farthing told him. "His blood work came back a few minutes ago and… well, see for yourself." He pointed to some figures that Steve would have been able to decipher – and then saved him from the need to do so. "As you can see, the alcohol content is sky high – I've seen cases of alcoholic poisoning with a lower blood count. In that respect, he was lucky."

"Yeah." Steve's eyes drifted to the motionless figure on the bed. "Real lucky."

Farthing ignored the interruption and continued: "There's also evidence of the drugs that I gave him." He chose not to complicate matters by using their scientific names. "And then there's this."

"This being..?" Steve queried, when another line of text was pointed out to him.

"We don't know," Farthing answered, frankly. "It's a chemical compound of some description, but it's resisting all attempts to break it down into its most base forms. There's something in there that our boys simply can't identify."

"So he was drugged."

"He was drugged, or he _took _drugs," Newman pointed out, reminding Steve exactly what he was up against in his quest for proof. "The puncture wounds, though unconventional, are not beyond the possibility of being self-inflicted."

"Alright." Steve bit back the angry retort that had instantly sprung to his lips, knowing that it would serve no useful purpose. "What about the mystery drug?" He turned his attention back to Farthing. "I know the lab guys couldn't identify it, but what _do _they know about it."

"It doesn't appear to have any narcotic qualities, but that's not exactly conclusive – not so long as our mystery ingredient remains a mystery." He looked at Steve over the top of his glasses. "Plus there's the fact that there's not only alcohol in his system, but also two recognised drugs – there's no telling if, or how, all of those have reacted together."

"Dammit," Steve swore softly. "If only we'd have been able to take a blood sample before…" A sudden thought struck him: "Where are his clothes?" He was thinking about the tattered and bloodstained shirt. That might yield some clues.

"Forensics," Newman answered, with a sardonic smile.

"I don't get it." Steve shook his head in utter bewilderment. "Why are you doing this? Jesse was caught red-handed; it was witnessed by cops; the case is closed. Why aren't you chewing me out for continuing to chase it?"

"Maybe that's what I should be doing," the Captain retorted, sharply. "Maybe that's exactly what I will do if you continue to put all of your energy into something other than this case." He glanced at his watch. "But right now, I'm going home. Have something concrete for me by this time tomorrow, or the whole file goes straight to the DAs office."

TBC…


	24. Trance 24

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Four.

Steve blew out a long breath after the Captain had finally left them alone. He knew that time was short, but he hadn't expected to be facing such an imminent deadline. Conjecture and theory were no longer going to be enough – and neither was simply trying to get things straight in his own mind. He had to start documenting everything and building a case in Jesse's defence. He had to find enough to convince Newman to give him some more time – and that wouldn't be an easy task. Nor was it one that he could hope to succeed in alone. He turned his attention back to the doctor.

"Doc, I need a favour," he said. "Actually, I need a couple. First off, I need another sample of Jesse's blood." He didn't waste time explaining why and he certainly didn't want to risk alienating the man by implying that he doubted the abilities of the lab techs. "And I need to know everything – and I mean _everything_ – that's wrong with him. Every bruise, every scrape…"

"It's all on his chart," Farthing answered, drifting over towards the bed and retrieving the said item. At Steve's look of surprise, he smiled. "With Captain Newman working so closely on this one, I thought it would be in my best interests to be thorough."

Steve shot him a knowing grin in return and took the chart from him, rapidly taking in its contents. The grin swiftly faded as he took in the catalogue of abuse that his friend had undergone – more than even he had realised.

"Christ," he muttered.

"It's nothing that won't heal – given time," Farthing tried to assure him. "The bruising around his kidneys was a concern, but there doesn't appear to be any internal damage. We're keeping an eye on that." He let out a heavy sigh. "Then there are the burns… There are marks that are consistent with TASER burns, but the others… Some kind of a heated implement was used to inflict them – more than one from the looks of it. We've done everything we can, but… there may be some minor scarring."

Steve closed his eyes briefly. After everything that Jesse had been through, chances were he was going to be left with physical reminders of his ordeal. It just wasn't fair. It was going to be hard enough for his friend ever to recover from this, as it was. How was he supposed to get over it if he faced the gruesome evidence of what he had undergone every time he looked in the mirror?

"Thanks, Doc," he murmured, his voice subdued. "Has he woken up at all yet?"

"Not yet, but he should start to come around within the hour." A frown settled across Farthing's brow. "Of course, with an unknown substance in his bloodstream that is something of a guess. It doesn't appear to be having any adverse effect on him, but…"

"Could it have been the drug that made him do what he did?" Steve wondered, aloud. "I mean, are there drugs that can do something like that? You know, completely change somebody's personality – turn them into a killer?"

"I'm sure that such drugs do exist," Farthing answered. "But they're certainly not available to the common GP. If you want information on that sort of thing, then you're asking the wrong person." He smiled without humour. "And the types of people who could give you the answers generally don't want to provide them."

"Not generally," Steve murmured, thinking regretfully of Jesse's incommunicable father – the one man who might have been willing to provide such answers, if only they could afford the luxury of the time it would take them to track him down.

Farthing raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the issue. Instead, he moved back to his patient and began preparing a syringe.

"What are you doing?" Steve wanted to know.

"Easiest way I know of to take a blood sample." The doctor proceeded to do exactly that. "You're having somebody else test it." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." Steve didn't even try to deny it. "No offence to your guys, but…"

"You want to cover all of the bases. I understand – he's your friend."

Those simple words instilled a sudden resolve into the detective and he pushed aside his own feelings of regret at how he had treated Jesse – and his growing sense of guilt. Such emotional baggage would only slow him down and there would be time enough to pick up the pieces once it was all over. For now, his priority had to be ensuring that there were enough pieces left to put back together again.

"Yeah, he is that." He didn't want to leave – but he had very little choice. There was too much work to be done. But nor could he simply walk away without trying to let his friend know – somehow – that he was, once again, fighting his corner.

He walked over to where the young man still lay motionless on the bed and looked down at him, sadly.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, Jess," he murmured – knowing that, held by drugs, it was unlikely that the other man could hear him at any level, but needing to say it nonetheless. "Sorry for being so quick to jump to conclusions and think badly of you; sorry for not asking the questions before just assuming that I had the answers." He paused and took a deep breath, knowing that it was going to take a hell of a lot more than 'sorry' to sort this one out. "But I'm gonna get you out of here, Jess – I promise you." A smile ghosted across his lips. "This is the part where I ask you if I've ever let you down in the past and you make some wiseass comment…" But the figure on the bed didn't as much as stir. Steve dropped one hand down to clasp a slender shoulder. "I'll be back later, buddy," he promised. "And I'll say all of that again, when I know that you're listening."

Having secured assurances from Doctor Farthing that he would alert Steve the very moment that Jesse began to awaken, the detective headed back out into the precinct in order to start trying to chase down some very slender leads.

His first contact was with Jesse's arresting officers: Lewis and Newbury. He needed written statements from both that they had not used handcuffs on their prisoner – and he also wanted details of exactly what state he was in when he was found; precisely where he was found; and if they had any form of evidence of the bar fight the young man was allegedly in.

Next, he contacted dispatch and demanded details of every brawl, fight, or minor altercation that had been called in that night – whether it had been attended or not. Then would come the painstaking process of obtaining descriptions of everyone involved and eliminating Jesse from each one of them. Instinct told him that his young friend wouldn't be positively identified – he had got his bruises somewhere else. It wasn't conclusive, but it was all that he had to go on so far.

There was also the question of how Jesse had got to be where he had been picked up. His car had been left at the hospital… Steve bit back a groan of frustration as he realised that his tiredness was beginning to cloud his judgement. This was no longer simply a missing person – this was now officially an attempted murder investigation. He should have no trouble in procuring the CCTV footage from the parking garage at Community General. If he hadn't been so exhausted, he would have thought of it sooner.

It was time for him to be out in the field – and it would also be a good time to check up on his dad and take the blood sample in for Amanda to run her own tests on.

He swung by the infirmary to collect that sample and Doctor Farthing looked up in surprise when he walked in.

"Your sense of timing is impeccable, Lieutenant," he said, jerking his head towards the bed. "I was just about to call you."

Steve's eyes strayed to where the other man had indicated and a cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. Gentle movement and a frown puckering the youthful face clearly indicated that Jesse was on the verge of waking up.

Steve took a deep, steadying breath and then dragged a chair over to the side of the bed. Leaning forwards, he rested his elbows on his knees and tried to ignore the fear that set his heart racing as he wondered what type of a reaction he would be faced with from his best friend.

"Jesse?" He pitched his voice low, but not so low that it could not be heard. The blonde head rolled in his direction. "Jess, can you hear me?"

Jesse's eyelids fluttered and so did Steve's heart as he found himself fervently hoping that his friend might, miraculously, not remember anything – that the mystery drug still coursing through his system may somehow induce amnesia. Then it would be simple for him to carefully explain everything that they believed – stressing the whole time that it was not his fault. Maybe then they could all come out of this unscathed.

But luck had not been on their side for some time now and it still showed no sign of switching allegiances. A look of keen distress suddenly swept across the young man's face and Steve could almost sense the memories crashing back down on him. Tears began to fall from behind the still-closed eyes and one of Jesse's hands moved weakly, but was stopped short by the restraint at his wrist. He struggled for a moment, panic flashing across his mobile features and finally his eyes opened, but they did not seek out Steve. Instead they settled on that leather strap.

Panic was replaced by acceptance – even welcome – and his eyes again closed as he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Jesse?" Steve had to say something, had to find some way to get through to his friend. He was aware of Doctor Farthing hovering not too far away – though maintaining a discreet distance – and was grateful for his presence. He had a feeling that he might need him.

"Jesse, I want you to listen to me. Okay?" There was still no response and Steve glanced towards Farthing – the doctor's eyes encouraged him to continue. "Well, I know you can hear me, so I'm gonna talk anyway." He paused for a moment, trying to formulate the words in his mind. He wasn't normally the most eloquent of men, but he knew that it would take something special, maybe even something inspirational, to not only get through to his friend but also to make him believe what he was being told.

"When you were… sleeping earlier, I stopped by to apologise to you, Jess." He paused again, hoping for a reaction from – what he would have thought of as – his unexpected words. But none was forthcoming. He sighed and started again. "So now I'm gonna do it properly. I'm sorry, Jesse. I'm sorry because I never found out the truth before making accusations; sorry that I never thought about what might have happened to _you, _instead of just taking things at face value. How many years have we known each other now, Jess?" It was a rhetorical question and he didn't even wait for an answer. "And after all that time, how could I just forget everything about who you are and…"

"Stop."

The voice coming from the bed was so small and frail that it took Steve a moment to even register it. "Jess?" he asked, a little uncertainly. He genuinely hadn't expected any sort of a response so soon.

"I did it, Steve." Jesse's voice was low and harsh and filled with self-loathing. "End of story."

"No, Jess." A slight smile touched Steve's lips at the miniscule progress he had made. "That's just the beginning of the story."

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_It was the strangest sensation._

_It was as though he was watching everything from the end of a long tunnel – an indistinct and blurred tunnel, where the colours were too bright and too sharp – even though he was witnessing events through his own eyes._

_The skin was too pale, the bruises too dark and, when his hands eased back navy material, burns – vivid and red – almost blinded him with their intensity. _

"_It's alright, Jesse."_

_His voice, whilst seeming to come from a great distance, still sounded overly loud. And then bright blue eyes were staring up at him and…_

_The tunnel closed in around him and he felt real fear take hold of him at what he saw reflected from those eyes. Steve's voice sounded from behind him – his words indistinct and unimportant – and his panic passed._

_But still it lurked, just below the surface and he turned his head – more words echoing in the background._

'_**Don't send them away!" **His own voice screamed inside his head. **"Do it differently this time! Change it! Don't send them away!"**_

_But he could no more obey that voice than he could fly to the moon unaided. His head moved in the slightest gesture and Steve and Amanda were gone._

"_We're alone."_

_And though he knew what was going to happen, he had to say the words, had to play it out to the bitter end._

_He looked at Jesse and the focus was so intense it was as though they were the only two people on the Earth at that moment._

_Jesse looked back at him through a stranger's eyes. Then those eyes hardened and the lips moved…_

"It wasn't Jesse!" Mark jerked awake with a startled gasp.

Amanda had known that something was wrong. She had watched with growing concern as Mark's sleep had become increasingly restless. First it had been just slight movements of his head, but then he had begun to thrash around, his lips moving soundlessly.

The blip of his heart monitor began to increase in speed and Amanda had half risen from her chair, intent on calling Doctor Swanson, when Mark had suddenly called out those three words.

A small shriek escaped her lips and she recoiled as the older man suddenly sat bolt upright – his eyes open and seeming fully aware. He turned to face her and tears sprung into those eyes. He smiled tremulously, almost sadly.

"It wasn't Jesse," he echoed, more softly.

"Mark…" Amanda's voice was full of compassion. She knew that no good could come from those words and wondered if she should summon help anyway. Mark retreating into denial might not hinder his immediate recovery, but it would not bode well in the long run.

"No, Amanda, I know what he did." It was though he'd read her mind, but then it wasn't the first time that he'd seemed to possess such an ability. He reached out to grasp her hand. "But I remember. He _did_ speak, Amanda – and I remember what he said to me." Sudden animation lit his features. "I need to talk to Steve."

"You _need_ to stay calm and get some rest," the pathologist argued, still concerned by his elevated heart rate.

"Amanda, Jesse's in jail and is facing charges of attempted murder." He spoke fervently, passionately. "And I know why. I know how they did it."

"Did what? How who did it, Mark?" She leaned in closer, curiosity catching hold of her, but still encouraging him to at least lie down – if he would not calm down.

"Doctor Gavin Reed."

He saw her pale at the mention of that name and there was no need to remind her of who he was. She had been at the heart of the investigation when Reed's wife had been murdered. It had been her friend who had stood accused at the time – and who had tried to take her own life over it.

And, though five years had passed and they had long since relaxed from any genuine fear of revenge, they had never completely forgotten that the man had escaped from custody and was still at large.

"Gavin Reed," she whispered. Then she shook her head abruptly. "That doesn't make sense, Mark. Why wait until now – and, most importantly, why would he target Jesse?"

"I don't think that Jesse was the target – I think that I was. Jesse was just the tool." All trace of fatigue was gone from his features and he studied his friend intently. He was about to recall what would be difficult memories for her. "The last time he wanted to commit murder, he used your friend, Barbara and…"

"Stop right there, Mark," Amanda interrupted. Her memories of that time were crystal clear and they bore no similarity to what they were enduring now. "Barbara didn't do anything. Reed just hypnotised her to put her in the frame for murder. He killed his wife himself, remember? And Jesse…" She sighed, remembering how Steve had spelt things out so harshly. "Jesse's guilty, Mark. This wasn't a set-up. This is nothing like what happened with Barbara."

Mark pondered silently for a long moment. Something had twisted inside him when Amanda had pronounced his former protégé as being guilty. They had never, ever believed that of him before – no matter what. This time, however, there was no denying it.

But he still knew that he was right about the Reed connection. _"Gavin sends his regards." _It was an unmistakable message of revenge – and he didn't know any other 'Gavin' who might want to see him dead. Then with the issue of some form of mind control being taken into account, the conclusion looked to be inevitable. But even with that conclusion came more questions.

"You're right," he admitted, heavily. "There's something missing here. Jesse did try to kill me – he really, honestly intended to end my life. And I don't care how skilled or successful Reed might have been – you can't make somebody do that through hypnosis." He scowled. "But I know he's involved. I _know _he is."

"Not through hypnosis alone…" Amanda murmured to herself. She was thinking about Jesse's aversion to needles; about Steve's theory that he'd been drugged. And if Mark had been fully fit and not still held in the residue of his own medication, then he would have made the connection too.

"Amanda?"

The pathologist glanced up, sharply. She'd been completely lost in her own thoughts and now Mark was regarding her quizzically.

"I was just wool-gathering, I'm sorry." She smiled a little sheepishly.

"You're onto something, aren't you?

"It might be nothing…" she hedged, cursing his intuition. "Look, Mark, you really should be resting and we shouldn't even be having this conversation. It was only a day ago that you had a heart attack."

"I'd not forgotten, Amanda," he answered, softly. "But I can't not think about what Jesse's going through. I wouldn't be human if I could. And there's nothing wrong with my mind." He smiled at her – and it was a smile of old; one that told her he was about to get his own way, but she hadn't quite realised that yet. "If I promise to stay calm and not move – what harm could it do just to talk?"

Her responding smile was one of acceptance and she settled back into her chair. "Alright," she conceded. "But if that heart monitor increases by even one beat…" She left the threat unfinished, but she'd made her point.

"So…" Mark relaxed back against his pillows, determined to keep his word and not give Amanda any reason to throw him out of the loop. "What you just said about it not just being hypnosis…" His eyes half closed as he replayed their most recent conversation. Then the answer hit him: "The drugs – of course!"

Amanda hid her smile by looking pointedly at the monitors that still surrounded him, but she'd known that it wouldn't take him long to be back firing on all cylinders. It would take more than a heart attack to keep him down – especially when a friend needed him.

TBC…


	25. Trance 25

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Five.

"Jess." It wasn't easy, trying to find the words to explain exactly what his best friend had endured – but he had to try. "We've got reason to believe that you were drugged and that the alcohol…" He tamped down on his guilt at his original reaction to Jesse appearing to be drunk. "We think that the alcohol was forced on you. Somebody… We're not sure how exactly, but they were trying to control you."

Not as much as a flicker crossed the younger man's features and his eyes just continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Jesse, have you heard anything of what I just said?" Steve tried hard to keep the exasperation out of his voice as his words were met with a complete lack of reaction. "I'm trying to tell you that it wasn't your fault. Somebody used you – they made you attack my father."

Still not even a blink.

"Jess, I need to know if any of it sounds familiar – if maybe it's rung any bells," the detective pressed on. He'd never known Jesse refuse to help if he were at all capable and the continuing silence was unnerving him. "We're certain that you were abducted and…"

Finally he got a response, but it was not the one that he'd been hoping for. A terrified – almost animalistic – whimper escaped from the young man's lips and he tried to curl in on himself, but the restraints cut his movements short. The whimper became a sob and the movement against his bonds became more frantic. He looked as though he was trying to escape – or to hide – and it had been triggered by the mere mention of his abduction.

Sensing that he was onto something, Steve reached out and grasped his friend's shoulder. Again, the reaction he got was the opposite of what he'd hoped for. Jesse cried out in sheer terror, his body twisting helplessly, his eyes closing as he lost himself somewhere in a nightmare world that he would never be able to fully escape from:

_Cold and burning, cold and burning. The two sensations were at odds with one another and yet both existed in the hell in which he resided. The foul taste of strong liquor sent his body into rebellion. It burned like fire on the way down his throat and he fought to dispel its poison from his body. _

_And there was the ice cold beer frothing down his throat, forcing instinctive gagging and retching as he struggled to breathe past the intrusion. The splash of it on his face and body – the smell of it only worsening the churning in his gut._

_The hands burned, too. Hands that held him down and hurt him and carried the threat that they could do worse – much worse._

_In contrast – the contrast of the liquor and the beer – the eyes were cold. Cold and hard and promising that they **would **do worse – much, much worse…_

"Jesse!" Steve was hard pressed not to panic as his friend suddenly convulsed.

A choking sound in the back of his throat had Farthing darting forwards. "Help me get him onto his side!" he commanded with such urgency that Steve's hands instantly moved to the binding on the patient's left wrist.

Jesse convulsed again, his back arching – and it was clear that he was struggling to breathe. Steve and the doctor could spare no time for gentleness. They roughly twisted the flailing body until it awkwardly rested on one side. Farthing forced his mouth open, quickly removing his fingers as Jesse retched against them. Thin streams of vomit and bile spilled out onto the pillow, but the heaving continued long after his stomach had given up its entire contents.

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"It's feasible that a drug – when used in conjunction with aggressive hypnotism techniques – could provoke a reaction like the one that we saw in Jesse." Mark mused, almost to himself. "It's a terrifying thought that one's own free will could be taken away so completely, but…"

"But I thought that was impossible," Amanda argued, her distress evident in her eyes. "You can't hypnotise someone into becoming a killer – at least not unless some part of them, even subconsciously…"

"Don't say it, Amanda." Mark cut her off, abruptly. "We both know that Jesse wouldn't willingly hurt anybody, much less a friend. No… There's more to this." His brow furrowed with concentration. "If Reed just wanted me dead, then why go to such lengths? Why change his MO? Surely it would have been easier to just hypnotise Jesse the same way that he did Barbara; kill me himself – we know that he's not squeamish about committing murder – and then leave Jesse to take the blame. Why the drugs?"

"Plus there's the alcohol that was forced on him – and those marks…"

"It doesn't add up. This isn't just about him wanting to see me dead. He's a very clever man, but this whole plot seems overly complicated." He was in full investigative mode – a look that Amanda instantly recognised. And, though she was still concerned about his state of health, she actually welcomed that look.

"Mark…" A sudden thought struck Amanda and it filled her with dread. "What if… What if it wasn't just last night? Jesse's not been himself for a few days. What if he's been terrorised that whole time?"

"We would have noticed…" Mark's words – that had been intended to reassure – trailed off as he recognised them to be a lie. Neither he nor Steve had even seen Jesse recently and though Amanda had expressed concerns about their friend, they had done nothing to act on them. "But why?" he wondered aloud. "It doesn't make sense. If this was happening over a period of time, then it just increases the risk of being caught. If Jesse hadn't said what he did, I'd be having a hard time believing that this was Reed at all. It's too sloppy, too…"

"Complex?" Amanda had been drawing comparisons to the last time that Reed had entered their lives – and things weren't adding up. "Reed wanted you to know that he was behind the attack and he did that, so why go to all of this trouble? Why the drugs and the torture? Why not just stick to the same MO?"

"Because he failed the last time," Mark mused. "Maybe he saw his plan as flawed. He's had five years to come up with a new one."

"One that was even more risky than the last," the young woman pointed out. "And he can't possibly have known if it would work. I've never heard of a case where a combination of hypnotism and drugs has turned out to be the murder weapon."

"No… No, you're right…" His voice was distant as he pondered her words. "But then, how would we know? How much would the 'killer' remember?" His expression darkened into a scowl. "How much does Jesse remember? Amanda, we need to get this information to Steve." He pushed himself half upright as he said those words, looking as though he was about to leap out of bed in order to do exactly that.

"I'll call him." Her firm voice and a gentle hand on his arm soon stopped the movement. "Just as long as you promise to get some rest."

He could see the worry in her eyes, hear it in her voice and he relaxed back against his pillows – but his head was still buzzing with a thousand unanswered questions. "I'll try," he promised – and it was the best that he could offer.

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The infirmary was, again, still and silent. Jesse's terrifying convulsion had long passed, but the young man still lay on his side. His free hand clutched weakly at his stomach and his breath came in short, pain-filled gasps.

And Steve still leant over him, staring down at him with brooding eyes. "How much more, doc?" he murmured. "What else is he expected to go through?"

"I can't answer that, Steve," Farthing answered, regretfully. "I can't even tell you what caused that. It might have been an effect of the drugs; the aftermath of the alcohol; a reaction to just about anything. There are so many foreign substances in his blood – we don't have enough information…"

"Then we need to get more, dammit!" Steve's frustration momentarily got the better of him, but then he bit his lip and took a deep, steadying breath. Losing his temper with the doctor wasn't going to help. "Sorry," he murmured with sincerity. "I, ah… I have to go…"

He needed answers and he wasn't going to get them by leaning over an infirmary bed. He looked at the strap that had once encased Jesse's wrist and that now hung vacant. He knew that they were for his friend's own benefit, but he couldn't picture himself taking hold of that bandaged arm and tying him down like some animal. It was hard enough picturing someone else doing it.

"I'll take care of him." Farthing seemed to sense his dilemma and took it away from him.

"Thanks, I…"

Whatever else he'd been about to say was cut of by the sudden, strident ringing of his cell phone. The noise was inappropriately loud in the quiet of the infirmary and he shot Farthing an apologetic look as he fished it from his pocket.

"Sloan here." He answered the call in his usual style and then felt his heart miss a beat when it was Amanda's voice that greeted him.

"_Your dad's fine." _She intentionally opened with those reassuring words to take away the worry he was bound to be feeling on receiving a call from her at 3am. _"Actually, he's acting a lot more like his old self. He thinks he might know who's behind all of this."_

"What?" Steve didn't know why he reacted with such shock – this was Mark Sloan they were talking about, after all.

"_Jesse did speak to him. He said 'Gavin sends his regards'. Mark thinks that it's Gavin Reed."_

"Gavin Reed…" Steve whispered in response, easily remembering the man – not least because of his escape from jail. "Wait!" More details of that case slipped back into his mind. "Reed was a hypnotist. Do you think..?"

"_There's a chance that – combined with the unknown drug that you found – Reed may have been able to hypnotise Jesse into doing what he did."_

"But if this is all about mind control, then why the hell did they need to torture him?"

"_Steve, does... Does Jesse remember anything? Has he said anything else?" _She didn't respond to his question, because she had asked the same one herself.

As if in retaliation, the detective didn't answer her either – but it was nothing petty that held his tongue. Instead, it was his own dark thoughts. He had a gut feeling that Jesse did remember something and that was what had sparked his most recent torment. But as for talking to him – he didn't think that they'd make any progress on that any time soon.

"_Steve?" _Amanda's voice, heavy with trepidation overrode his musings. _"What is it? What aren't you telling us?"_

"Nothing, Amanda. There's nothing to tell." He glanced back through the still open infirmary door. Farthing had recruited some help and they were busy changing Jesse's vomit stained sheets. "Jesse…" He paused, not wanting to add to her burden too heavily. "Jesse's not talking to anyone right now," he eventually temporized. "Listen, how sure can you be about this? I don't want to go chasing what might turn out to be a wild goose. I thought it was impossible to…"

"_If it was just hypnotism, then yes – it would be." _Amanda cut him off from voicing the thought that they had all shared. _"But we don't know what this drug has done to him."_

"Amanda." Steve's brain was turning over as he processed everything that he was hearing. "Are there any tests that we can do? Anything that might show up in… I don't know, his blood work or his brainwaves? Can we prove this?"

"_I don't know, Steve." _Her answer doomed him to disappointment. _"We can't identify what's…" _Her tone suddenly changed, becoming more urgent. _"Steve, I need that blood sample. I need to run my own tests."_

"You think you're onto something?"

"_Nothing solid." _Regret was clearly evident in her answer._ "But I know more than I did; more of what properties and interactions to look for."_

"I'm on my way over." He spared one more glance back towards his best friend and then had to quickly look away. It didn't matter how gentle Farthing appeared to be. Restraints were still restraints.

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He'd had more than one reason to return to the hospital and Amanda's plea for the blood had instilled a new sense of urgency in him. He was back at Community General in close to record time. The blood was safely delivered to the pathologist and she had wanted to start work on it right away, but Steve elicited a promise that she would go home – at least for a few hours. She had done nothing more than nap in the hospital during the last twenty-four hours and the strain was beginning to show. She tried to protest, but he won her over easily when he pointed out that she would be of little help if she was too tired to see what she was looking for.

But of course, she'd had to have the last word –and had elicited a promise that he would do the same – and had done it by throwing his very own argument back at him. Feeling more than a little chagrined, Steve took a quick moment to look in on his father and was thankful to find that he had finally slipped back into a healing sleep.

The sky was beginning to lighten as he drove back towards the beach house and he knew that he would do little more than doze before he was back out trying to find the evidence that would clear his best friend's name.

As he stripped off, showered – another luxury that he had denied for too long – Steve wondered if he'd be able to sleep at all. The revelations of that night were still buzzing around his head and he was horribly aware of the deadline that Newman had left for him. He had one day left – one day before Jesse's fate was passed into the hands of someone else.

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In spite of his doubt that he'd be able to do so, Steve did sleep for a couple of hours. But he'd set his alarm for 8am and rose with it – feeling rested even after such a short time. He was also feeling slightly more upbeat now that things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

He made one stop on his way to the hospital, looked in on his sleeping father when he arrived there and then strode purposefully though the hospital corridors, his recently obtained warrant clutched in one hand and a dangerous glint in his eye. He was almost hoping that the guy he'd spoken to on the phone would be on duty and would again baulk at letting him see the surveillance cameras. It would be a good way to release some pent up frustration.

He marched up to the desk, slammed the offending piece of paper down in front of the startled employee and opened his mouth to make some witty comment. Then the person – who had been hunched over their desk – looked up with almost comical surprise. The smart comment died on Steve's lips and he imagined that his expression wasn't far away from matching the one that stared back at him. The _female _one.

It was irrational and it was petty, but Steve didn't care. He'd wanted one small victory – just one – and it had been taken away from him because the jerk that had been so anal about his procedures had the day off. He bit his lip – so as not to take out his frustration on the hapless woman who now stared up at him and, in a valiantly calm voice, told her what the warrant was for.

Unlike her predecessor, she couldn't have been more helpful and Steve's eyes flickered down to her name badge. Except that there was no name badge. And he hated that. When there was no name badge, he always felt as though he'd just been caught checking out a woman's chest.

Mumbling a thanks, Steve hurried off in the direction she had indicated and barely even heard her call after him that one of his colleagues was already there.

"Tanis, what the hell are you doing here?" Steve demanded as he opened the surveillance room door and was confronted by a very familiar profile.

"Getting square eyes and a headache trying to find out exactly what time Travis left the hospital," his partner retorted – without so much as a hello. "All I can say for certain is that he didn't approach his car – nobody did – and he hadn't left by the main entrance by 6.26."

"He was supposed to leave here at 4 o'clock. Don't you think it would be better to concentrate on a smaller window?"

"Newman told me to be thorough," the blonde answered with a shrug.

"Newman," Steve sighed. "Figures. I take it he's filled you in then?"

"On what? An open and shut case?" Tanis glanced up at Steve for the first time since he'd entered. "You know, he's got me seriously freaked out here. Is it a full moon or something?"

"Tanis, you know that Jesse couldn't do something like this…"

"No, Steve," she interrupted him, sharply. "I _know _that Travis did exactly this. What I can't figure out is why Newman is letting us investigate the 'why'."

"Probably following a hunch," Steve mumbled, mostly under his breath. In truth, he was starting to feel a little freaked out himself. "He can't _possibly _have known. He can't have."

"Alright, Sloan, spill it." Tanis hit the pause button on the VCR. "Known what?"

Her partner barely paused before dropping his bombshell: "We think that Gavin Reed might be back in town."

Tanis's eyebrow quirked upwards in surprise. Though she had not been a part of the original investigation into the murderous hypnotist, his subsequent escape and 'still at large' status meant that she was wholly familiar with him.

"Gavin Reed." She repeated the name thoughtfully. "If he has come back then he'd be pretty stupid." She looked at Steve frankly. "He'd beaten us."

Her partner didn't even try to refute that unpleasant fact. "I'd say that he was more vengeful than stupid. But that still doesn't explain how Newman could have known about it. I've only just found out myself."

"Or maybe Newman doesn't know about it and he's got lucky. Instead of being reamed for letting us chase what should be a closed investigation – he ends up smelling like roses when we catch an escaped felon."

Steve shook his head, but his mouth quirked into a wry smile. That scenario was just too typical. Then his eyes narrowed: "So you seem to be taking all of this in your stride," he observed. "It pretty much floored me when my dad came up with Reed's name."

"It answers a lot of questions," the blonde shrugged in response and released the pause that had held the tape in place. "Hypnotism – yeah, that would certainly explain a few things. So, how did Mark figure it out?"

Happy to have his partner on side – he'd felt uncomfortable working so closely with Newman – Steve pulled up a chair and joined Tanis in her boring task; taking the time to brief her on the little that he knew.

Once the talking was over, it took approximately half an hour for Steve's patience to decline from thin to non-existent. He quickly grew tedious of staring at the image of the main entrance of CGH, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of his friend's blonde head.

Though he knew that a large percentage of police work did indeed consist of such tedium, he also figured that just knowing what time Jesse had actually left the hospital would shed very little light on the current mystery. The only substantial clue they could possibly hope for would be if his young friend hadn't been alone when he left.

Feeling only mildly guilty he took his leave of Tanis – pretending to be blithely unaware of the dark look and muttered insult that was shot in his direction.

There were other things that he needed to be doing: he had to collate the scant information that he had so far gathered; had to chase up what seemed to be the most insignificant of leads. And he had to try to find some sort of evidence to support his father's theory about Gavin Reed.

TBC…


	26. Trance 26

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Apologies for the delay in updating. No excuses other than the fact that I've been busy. Thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Six.

The man who was currently so occupying Steve's thoughts was completely unaware that there was even a hint of suspicion surrounding him. As the detective had been staring at scratchy monitors, Reed was sitting on the terrace of his rented house, unfolding the newspaper that he had collected a half hour ago. The light of eager anticipation that had shone in his eyes swiftly faded as he scanned the front page.

"**_RAIL TRAGEDY DEATH TOLL RISES TO SIXTEEN"_**

Okay, so yes it was big news – important enough to warrant the entire front page; important enough to relegate other news to further inside the publication. With growing impatience, Reed flicked through the entire newspaper – his eyes rapidly scanning every headline.

When that failed to produce the desired result, he went back over it again; scrutinising each page – each article and footnote – in more detail. He knew that he was clutching at straws. The murder of Mark Sloan would definitely warrant more publicity than a mere mention tagged on almost as an afterthought. But he needed to know if his plan had come to fruition. His obsession had driven him for too long and he was left feeling lost and almost bereft – caught in a kind of limbo of uncertainty. He no longer had the vengeance fuelled drive that had sustained him for the last five years – but nor did he have the satisfaction of closure. And, therefore, he couldn't find a way to move on.

He knew there was a strong chance that maybe the deed hadn't been done yet – after all, he had stressed Travis wouldn't act until he was alone with Sloan. But 'maybe' wasn't going to help him to sleep at night. He needed to know for sure.

Heading back into the house, Reed turned on the television – that was kept permanently tuned into the local news station. The news would break on there before the later editions of the broadsheets hit the news-stands. And if that failed to yield results, then he knew a man who would be able to provide him with the answers he craved. Richard Liddell had seemed to have an intimate knowledge of young doctor Travis's every move.

* * *

Across the city, Mark blinked his eyes open and was surprised to find that he was alone in his room. Worry briefly clenched in his gut, but then common sense prevailed. They were caught up in an investigation that had, thus far, yielded very little in the way of clues. And seeing as it was Jesse who stood in the very centre of that mystery – who was currently languishing in jail, a place where Mark could never believe he belonged, no matter what the circumstances – he knew exactly what both his son and Amanda would be doing.

Mark fully approved of their absence. They needed to be tracking down the truth – not babysitting him when it was becoming more and more clear that he was going to be fine. But he did momentarily wish for someone to talk to. He'd had an idea – and his ideas always worked better after he had bounced them around with someone for a while. Usually that someone would be Steve, Amanda or Jesse but, at this moment in time, he wouldn't have cared who it was. He just wanted to speak the idea aloud – to give life to it and see if it remained credible.

Moments later his wish was granted as the door swung open. Even better, it was Amanda's beautiful face that peered in at him. Seeing that he was awake, she stepped fully into the room and Mark could see that she held a standard tan file in her hands. His eyes were instantly drawn to it and he knew what it was without having to ask.

"Jesse's blood?" He said the words anyway and the pathologist's returning nod confirmed them.

"There was an unidentified substance in there – one that couldn't be accounted for by either the drugs that we knew about or the alcohol. It was some kind of a compound and there's one anomaly, but I have been able to identify most of its components." She handed him the file, knowing that it would be easier for him to read the information for himself. In all honesty, she didn't think she could stomach saying the words aloud.

Mark plucked his glasses off the bedside table and balanced them on his nose. His eyes had barely scanned the document before he was looking back up at the young pathologist – shock evident on his face.

"Isotretinoin? Diazepam?" He shook his head. "Individually either one of these could increase aggression and violent behaviour. Combined…"

"Not only combined," Amanda told him, grimly. "There's more."

Mark returned his eyes to the page and Amanda knew the exact moment that he came across her final finding. His eyes closed and pained remembrance passed across his features. "Scopolamine," he sighed. "Dear God, not again."

Amanda shared his horror – well remembering the last time that their mutual friend had unknowingly ingested the drug, or at least a drug with similar properties. It had been at the time of his ordeal at the hands of Perris Pharmaceuticals – and had culminated in him drawing a gun on Mark and almost shooting him.

And she hadn't forgotten that she had already drawn comparisons to that time once before – when they had first learned that Jesse was locked up, apparently stinking drunk. She felt tears fill her eyes as she wished that she could have noticed something sooner and spared them all of this.

"How did you know to look for it?" Mark asked her, quietly. He too remembered the incident – of looking into Jesse's wild and paranoid eyes and trying to convince him that he cared about him. He had succeeded in getting through to him on that occasion, why couldn't the same have been true this time?

"I didn't – I was alerted to the isotretinoin by an abnormally high concentration of Vitamin A. Once I'd isolated that, the diazepam seemed like an obvious test to try next. After that… I wasn't specifically looking for scopolamine, but I think… Maybe I had a hunch…"

"You were remembering the last time." Mark smiled gently at her. "It's a good thing you did. Now we have something definite to go on. Those are some very specialist drugs and, as far as I'm aware, Gavin Reed never had a degree in chemistry."

"No, Mark," Amanda corrected him – less concerned about Reed than she was about what a combination of such chemicals could do to Jesse. "These aren't drugs that were administered individually – they're just components of a whole. Unfortunately, that whole had already begun to break up in Jesse's blood stream. We're working in trace amounts here and I still don't think that we've got it all. Something had to provide the base – and something had to make them override basic human nature and take every last shred of free will away from Jesse."

"And that was your anomaly. But this doesn't make sense," Mark murmured. "I'm seeing more in common with Perris Pharmaceuticals than I am Gavin Reed." His eyes fell back to the file and the complexities that currently invaded Jesse's blood. "One thing's for certain – he wasn't working alone. He couldn't have created this drug."

"But Perris Pharmaceuticals are ancient history," Amanda put in.

"I know," Mark mused, having played a major part in that coming to pass. "And I'm thinking that maybe this is just a coincidence. But…"

"But you don't trust coincidences – and neither do I." The pathologist finished the thought for him. "I'll see if I can find anything else."

"Amanda, be careful." He didn't need to say any more than that – even if the choice of drug was merely a coincidence, they were still dealing with some very dangerous individuals. Jesse's current situation stood testimony to that.

The young woman nodded as she got to her feet – the warning had been welcome but unnecessary. She wasn't about to take any chances.

"You want to keep hold of that?" she asked, indicating Jesse's blood work file.

"Yes, I'll have another look through." A frown settled on Mark's features. "Before you go, I…" He hesitated, knowing that she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "I need you to contact Steve. Tell him that he needs to release the news about my attack."

"What?" Amanda's mouth dropped open in shock. They had been lucky so far that the press had yet to get hold of this. At least that was what she'd thought. Now Mark wanted to invite them in?

"Word of this has to get out. Reed has to know that he failed." This was the idea that he'd been toying with when he'd first awoken.

"What? So that he can try again? Mark, wouldn't it be easier to let him think that he succeeded? You can't put yourself back in the firing line."

"There's only so many times I'm willing to fake my own death, Amanda," he retorted with a familiar and welcome twinkle in his eye. "Or else providence might think that I'm tempting her."

It made sense, Amanda mused – even though her gut instinct was to protest against the plan. Mark had been through so much already. Two heart attacks and the trauma of being attacked by his dear friend had taken a heavy toll. And now he wanted to volunteer himself for more danger.

She knew exactly how Steve was going to react and it would make her own protests seem tame in comparison. But how else were they supposed to clear Jesse? It was all very well conjecturing that Reed was ultimately behind the attack, but they needed solid proof. And the first step in obtaining that proof was confirming that the hypnotist had indeed returned to LA.

"Amanda?" Mark's voice cut through her musing and she glanced up with a start.

"Steve's not going to like it," she said softly – not needing to add: _'neither do I'_.

"Then you have to make him like it." He leant forwards and took hold of her hand. "We're never going to find some anonymous chemist. Reed is the best lead that we have."

"That's assuming that he's still around."

"I think that he is." Lying in his hospital bed, Mark had had a lot of time to remember the man. "Gavin Reed isn't the type of person to leave a job half finished. He'll want to be sure."

She wanted to protest further – but there was something in Mark's face that stilled her tongue. He had a look of determination about him that indicated his mind was made up and nothing would sway him from his plan of action. And if she didn't do what he'd requested, then he would be out of bed and on the phone the second her back was turned.

"I'll talk to him," she acquiesced, with a sad half smile.

* * *

Some time during the night, Jesse too had drifted off to sleep. An IV drip snaking into his arm most probably had something to do with it – and the fact that his sleep had been mercifully dreamless.

But the drugs couldn't hold him in thrall forever and he blinked his eyes open; only to close them instantly again when he saw that he was not alone. He wanted to turn away, to give an unmistakable message with his body language that that person wasn't welcome, but straps still held him immobile and he had to settle for merely turning his face away. It was never going to be enough, but he'd known that anyway. He'd just had to try.

"Jesse, open your eyes." His visitor spoke and there was warmth and compassion in her voice – the same things he'd seen reflected in her face. Things that he did not deserve. "Jesse, please?"

He couldn't comply. His guilt flared anew and he wasn't strong enough to face her. But nor could he simply ignore her – that would only compound the sin. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dry and scratchy from having just woken up. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Sweetheart, you didn't mean to."

"I hit you." His words were spoken with finality and when he felt a hand reach out to his he closed it into a fist. He couldn't pull away, but he didn't want her sympathy.

"You weren't in control, Jess." Amanda refused to be swayed by the negativity that Jesse was displaying and she rested her hand on the one that refused to grasp hers. She needed the contact even if he didn't. "You couldn't help what you were doing. You couldn't fight it, couldn't stop it. You were drugged, honey." She paused, wondering how much she should disclose – how much he already knew.

"It doesn't matter." His voice was whisper soft and his eyes remained firmly closed. "I hurt you. I… I would have… killed…"

"Jesse…" The pain in his voice was too much for her and she sought some words of comfort. But before she could try to voice them, she was rudely interrupted.

"You wanna explain to me what the hell she's doing in there?"

Amanda's head whipped around – knowing that the 'she' had to be her. She had been the only female in the room. She closed her eyes briefly as she saw Captain Newman glowering back at her. Then Steve came into view and he looked equally as unhappy as his superior.

"Amanda…" Steve took a step towards her, but Amanda rose swiftly to meet him at the door, not wanting to have this conversation within Jesse's earshot.

"I'm visiting my friend, Steve," she hissed, ignoring the imposing presence of Newman. "We know he's not guilty and I have that right."

"No, you don't." It was the Captain who responded, his voice low and dangerous. "The last time I looked, Travis was still the prime suspect. I still haven't seen any evidence to the contrary. And you don't have any right to interrogate my suspects."

"And you don't have any right to keep him tied down!" Her patience broke at the cold way Newman was treating her friend and her voice got progressively louder. "We have evidence. He was drugged, he was restrained and he was beaten. How much more do you need?"

"Amanda." Steve quickly stepped in before Newman could really lose it. This was not the way to get him on side. Taking hold of her arm, he dragged her a short way down the corridor. "You shouldn't have gone in there." He spoke quickly before she had the chance to interrupt. "There are still charges filed against Jesse. We don't have enough to get them dropped as yet."

"Don't have enough?" She thrust the file that she had been holding into his chest. It was a copy of the one she had left with Mark. "Scopolamine, Steve." Tears filled her eyes as he stared disbelievingly at her. "Scopolamine combined with a whole host of other drugs – designed to increase aggression and violent behaviour; designed to confuse and disorientate; designed to control him, Steve."

"How come our guys didn't get this?" All anger forgotten, the detective got straight back to business.

"I knew what I was looking for."

"Have you done any tests?" Newman stepped back into the fray, having overheard her words. "You know for certain how these drugs interact?"

"What, you want me to inject myself with it?" She was still annoyed enough not to be at all intimidated by the man. "See if it makes me want to kill you? Believe me, I'm not sure that I'd even need the drugs right now."

The Captain didn't respond but just raised one sardonic eyebrow at her passionate outburst. That alone was enough to make her mentally replay exactly what she'd said and she glanced downwards, sheepishly. Passion wasn't going to sway Newman. Only facts would do that.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, with bad grace. Then she looked up and she was once again Doctor Bentley. "We haven't tested the compound because it has already broken down in the bloodstream. But we don't need to test it to know its effects."

"So." He turned his attention back to Steve. "We know he was drugged. He still could have taken it voluntarily."

"Jesse doesn't do…" Amanda had spoken instinctively, but quieted at the dark look Steve gave her. This was his territory after all.

"Drugged and, we think, hypnotised." At another questioning look, he pressed on. "We think Gavin Reed is back in town."

Newman stared impassively back at him for a moment. "Prove it to me," he eventually said, before turning on his heel and disappearing back down the corridor.

"So, what were you doing in there?" Steve asked, when the two of them were alone again.

"I was looking for you," she answered honestly. "Your phone's switched off."

He frowned when he heard those words – he rarely turned his phone off – and fumbled in his pocket to produce the object in question. Glancing at it, he offered Amanda a sheepish smile: "Battery's dead," he explained. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Your dad asked me to talk to you, but…" She bit her lip and glanced back down the corridor towards the infirmary. "Why's he in restraints, Steve?"

The detective couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't want to see the accusation, real or imagined, that would be there. It was hurting him, too. "They're for his own safety," he eventually whispered. "He's been… unstable."

"Can you blame him? Steve, he needs help."

"And he's getting it."

"That's not how you _help _people, Steve," Amanda shot back; shock adding uncharacteristic venom to her voice. "That kind of treatment belongs in the dark ages. What are you going to try next? Electric shock therapy?"

"Amanda…" Steve didn't need the pathologist to add to his guilt. He was handling that all by himself.

"No, Steve. That's Jesse in there – _our _Jesse." Her anger refused to be abated. "And we know that he's done nothing wrong. So are you going to release him or am I?"

"It's not possible – not yet at any rate." Steve grabbed hold of her arms, determined to get through to her. "He was on suicide watch, Amanda. I'm sorry, but that's _not_ 'our' Jesse in there – not at the moment."

The young woman's anger turned quickly to grief as the truth of his words sunk in. She looked away, fighting away tears.

"I am sorry, honey." He turned his grip into an embrace. "But we will get him back, I promise you." His mouth set into a thin line. "But that's not gonna happen until we can get some proof – and we all need to be doing that together. So, what did my dad want?"

Amanda sighed and again glanced towards the infirmary. She wanted to be with Jesse – to let him know that he wasn't alone and that his friends were standing by him – but she had been forced to face up to reality. And, no matter how much she yearned to, she couldn't just barge back in there, not without risking causing further damage to Jesse's already shattered emotional state. She blinked away her tears and allowed Steve to lead her away.

Once they had found some place quiet to sit and talk, her conversation with Steve went exactly as she had feared it would. To say that he was vehemently opposed to his father's idea was an understatement of massive proportions. She tried to be logical – to use the same argument that Mark had used to persuade her – but the detective was not about to be swayed. In fact, he answered her every comment with an obdurate and categorical 'no'.

"I can't believe that you're even discussing this," he snarled, after another failed rationale.

His voice was tight with emotion and his expression stubbornly set. Amanda's shoulders slumped in defeat. She had known that this would be the outcome and she'd given it her best shot. Now, though, she was at a loss as to what they could possibly do to clear Jesse's name.

"Dammit, what the hell was he thinking?" Steve ranted on, oblivious to her distress. "You can tell him from me that… Hell, I'll tell him myself." He grabbed for his cell phone, belatedly realising that he had not yet had the chance to recharge it. But he was not about to let that stop him from telling his dad exactly what he thought about his potentially suicidal plan. He reached for the phone on his desk but before he could even begin to dial, a slender hand rested on top of his own.

"Steve, don't you think that you should at least calm down first? Please?" Amanda's voice was small and pleading, but the look she gave him was filled with sincerity. "I know it's only because you're worried, but he honestly thought it was the right thing to do. He said… He said he didn't know how else we could ever prove…" She trailed off, because she agreed with that sentiment and it scared her to death.

"There's always another way, Amanda. A way that doesn't involve anybody putting their lives at risk." He had enough experience as a cop to genuinely believe that but as he sought to reassure her with a viable alternative, he was sickened to find that his mind was completely blank.

TBC…


	27. Trance 27

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Thanks so much for the reviews. You really know how to make my day! Apologies for anything amiss, but I've had the devil of a time uploading this, hence the dubious page-breaks. Sorry!**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Seven.

Mark replaced the telephone receiver with a heavy heart and decidedly mixed feelings. It wasn't in his nature to go behind his son's back and it nagged at his conscience that he'd been forced to do so.

The trouble was that he knew exactly how stubborn Steve could be – and he also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would never agree to any plan that might prove dangerous to Mark. He would undoubtedly have plenty to say against his idea to basically taunt Gavin Reed; to metaphorically thumb his nose at the man and invite him right back in to take another shot.

And so Mark had taken the decision away from him.

Jesse was in more trouble than he'd ever been in his life before. He was guilty as charged and it didn't even matter if Mark tried to get those charges dropped. This wasn't something that the police could ignore – wasn't something that they could merely walk away from. The crime had been committed at the precinct, the charges levied by the State. The only way to exonerate Jesse was to prove the mitigating circumstances that Mark now knew had to be behind the attack.

And the only way that he could see to do that was to catch the actual perpetrators – the ones who had somehow turned Jesse into their potential murder weapon.

So Mark had set into motion the events that might just enable them to do exactly that. He was going to face his son's ire – of that there was no doubt – but he truly believed that he was working towards the greater good.

His conscience still not entirely settled – it hurt him to be at odds with Steve, even for a short length of time – Mark lay back onto his bed and replayed the conversation he'd just had with an executive at the local news station.

They had taken an awful lot of persuading – made even more difficult by the fact that Mark never once identified himself. At first, he'd been treated as a crank caller and almost instantly dismissed, but he had persevered – his voice inexpertly muffled by a handkerchief – and had given them enough to get them hooked. The moment that he hung up he knew that the phone lines of Community General would be ringing red hot as the TV channel sought some confirmation of the news.

With a grim smile, Mark used the remote control at his bedside to tune into that very channel. Then he settled back to wait.

DMDMDM

The news inevitably broke. Hasty phone calls were made, responses confirmed what the anonymous caller had said and it was the main story within an hour of that call.

Three television sets in three very different locations were all tuned into the local news – and three people responded in their own unique way:

In a penthouse suite of a plush hotel, Hero Yoshimoto – registered under the name of Johnny Chung – felt a twinge of what could only be described as regret. He had known that their actual plan was doomed to failure, but he'd also hoped that something positive would emerge from the entire unsavoury episode. He had hoped that Travis would kill Mark Sloan and give credence to the drugs cocktail that had been his life's work. The newscaster didn't give too many details, but it was evident that their 'foolproof' plan now lay in tatters. Yoshimoto knew that the blame might have been laid at a number of doors – but he did not concern himself with that. Ultimately, they had failed and, if his compound was ever going to make the millions that he knew it had the potential to do, then he was going to have to start again elsewhere. And this time, he would fully scrutinise his partner's credentials and motives before committing himself to anything.

In a plush condo in one of the more upmarket suburbs of LA, Richard Liddell felt it was all something of an anticlimax. He had expected fireworks of some description and had gotten only a damp squib. The murder attempt had failed, the plan was now beginning to look like a ludicrous pipe-dream and he was left feeling somewhat dissatisfied by the entire outcome. But still, he was always one to seek out a bright side. And the bright side was easy to see on this occasion, even if it was more of a silver lining: Travis wouldn't face a lethal injection for attempted murder. Travis would live. And, if that were the case, there was always a chance, however slim, that one day their paths might again cross. A small smile touched his lips at the prospect.

And in his rented house, Gavin Reed could only sit and stare. Anger, disbelief and frustration warred amongst his emotions. This was the worst possible outcome – so unimaginable that he had never even provided a contingency plan for it. He had been so certain that his method couldn't do anything other than succeed. He tried to blame it on Yoshimoto's drug, on Liddell's heavy-handedness, on anything other than the simple fact that he had failed. Unlike the others, he didn't give a damn about the money. His driving force had only ever been revenge – and nothing had happened to change that fact. Though their plan had failed, he still knew that he couldn't rest until Mark Sloan was dead.

DMDMDM

Steve rubbed a hand wearily through his hair and pushed himself from his seat. Amanda watched him through concerned eyes.

"What are you going to do?" she wondered, aloud.

"Well, we've got marginally more than we did have. I'm going to see if maybe it will jog Jesse's memory.

"Can I..?"

"No." He interrupted before she could fully voice her obvious desire to go with him. "Not yet," he continued more softly. "We're getting closer, I know we are. Just… give it a little more time."

They hadn't strayed far from the infirmary and, having ensured that Amanda had left at least the immediate vicinity, Steve was back there just moments later – relieved to find that his Captain was no longer in attendance. In fact, Jesse was the only person in the room and Steve drifted closer to the bed, wondering if his young friend was sleeping again. He seemed to spend a lot of time sleeping – or at least pretending to.

But the blonde man was awake, his eyes open and fixed on a spot on the wall, though he was obviously seeing something much further away.

"Jesse?" Steve snagged a chair with his foot and dragged it to the bedside, wincing as it scraped across the linoleum – and then feeling only dismay as the harsh sound failed to provoke any kind of reaction from the other man. "Jesse, I want to ask you about Gavin."

Still only silence greeted him and he leaned in closer, seeking eye contact – but he couldn't force that distant gaze to focus.

"Jess, when you…" He hesitated before realising that there was no point in tip-toeing around the truth. "Just before you attacked my dad, you said _'Gavin sends his regards'_. Who's Gavin, buddy? Why did you say that? Was it Gavin Reed?" If he was hoping to shock a reaction from the younger man then he was doomed to disappointment. There was not so much as a flicker of interest. Steve was not about to give up. "We're trying to help you here, buddy," he continued. "But you're gonna have to help yourself, too. Think, Jesse." He leaned in even closer, his voice becoming more intense. "Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

"I…" Jesse's soft voice momentarily startled him. "I don't… feel…"

"Jesse?" the detective prompted when it seemed that those faltering, meaningless words were all the younger man had to offer.

"I don't… _feel_…" Jesse repeated and a lone tear snaked down his cheek. "I remember… I remember that I had to kill him… But I can't…" A hand jerked in a restraint, in a futile attempt to wipe his treacherous eyes. "I'm not angry… I don't hate… I don't feel…"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Jesse." Steve almost sagged in relief at having finally got through to his young friend. Maybe now they could start moving forwards. "We know you were drugged and you were very badly hurt – but we also think that you were hypnotised…"

"No!" Jesse's surprisingly strong voice shocked the detective into silence. "No. I could see… I could see, but I couldn't stop… I couldn't fight…"

"It's okay, Jess…"

"No." This time the word came out on a low moan. "No, it can't be." For the first time since his arrest, Jesse's eyes locked onto Steve's. "What if I do it again?" he whispered.

Steve froze and anything else that he might have said died on his lips. He knew that he'd be kidding himself if he tried to pretend that the possibility had never crossed his mind. But each time it had tried to creep insidiously into his thoughts, he had thrust it rudely to one side. Now he was being left with no choice but to face up to it – and he wasn't at all ready for that task.

Jesse seemed to sense it too – and with a sigh that was utterly steeped in sadness, he turned his face away from his friend. He had almost dared to hope that his nightmare was coming to an end, but the horrified expression on Steve's face had sent him plunging back into darkness. They didn't know if he'd attack Mark again – if he would still feel the need to kill him. They just didn't know. And it wasn't a question that Jesse could go anyway towards answering, either.

He shifted slightly, allowing his tremendous guilt to again take hold of him, but the restraint at his wrist stopped him short. Sparing it only the briefest of glances, Jesse could only pray that they would keep him tied down for as long as there was even the slightest chance that his curse might stay with him forever.

Steve was aware that the silence had lasted way too long and that there was nothing he could possibly say to make things right. That very silence had given credence to Jesse's whispered fears and had turned it into a living thing – waiting to pounce the moment that his father was back on the road to recovery.

In fact, Steve had taken the thought one step further: _What if it happens again and he succeeds in killing him this time?_ He didn't want to feel that way, didn't want to be so mistrustful of his best friend, but he had already pondered the question of how he could possibly leave Mark and Jesse alone together whatever the circumstances – and then Jesse, of all people, had rudely reminded him, that they might still have yet more to endure.

He shook his head, knowing that he was being unfair but completely unable to help himself. This was his dad – whom he had almost lost twice now – and he figured that he was entitled to some less than charitable thoughts. But he also knew that those thoughts were directed at wholly the wrong person.

None of this was Jesse's fault but, again, that realisation came way, way too late for Steve. The silence had stretched for too long, but the words still hung heavy in the air. And, though Jesse now feigned sleep, it was easy for Steve to see the guilt that covered him like a shroud.

DMDMDM

His bad day was about to get worse. Steve knew that the moment that he exited the infirmary and heard Newman holler his name. He glanced down the corridor to where his Captain stood – his expression thunderous – and paused to offer a silent _'now what?' _before heading in that direction.

He didn't need to be told to follow him into his office – the look was enough – but he wasn't prepared to be confronted by his father's face staring back at him from a television screen.

"…_and, while a spokesperson for Community General has confirmed that Mark Sloan has been admitted, full details are yet to be released…"_

Steve tuned out the newscaster's voice and turned his shocked eyes to his Captain.

"A press leak." Newman stood with his arms folded and regarding him, gravely. "Do you have any idea as to how this happened?"

"No," Steve retorted, his voice harsh with anger. "But I've got a good idea as to who might." At Newman's simple raised eyebrow, he elaborated: "My dad. He'd come up with this harebrained scheme to lure Reed out of hiding – using himself as bait."

"And you condoned it?"

"No I didn't condone it. I was on my way to talk him out of it."

"It's a little late for that," Newman observed, wryly. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Steve answered, tightly. "But I'm damned if I'm just gonna sit back while my dad sets himself up for target practice."

Newman smiled without humour. "From the looks of it, I'd say it was a little late for that, too." And he turned his gaze back to the TV screen where Mark's face still smiled out at them and then reached out to turn it off.

Steve didn't bother responding immediately, but sucked in a deep breath and strove to keep his temper in check. How he was ever going to confront his father with this without resorting to yelling was completely beyond him. Losing it with his Captain wasn't going to be overly productive either, hence the long moment that he took to compose himself before speaking again.

"Sir…" he said eventually.

"You want to post uniforms on your father's door." Newman was by now seated behind his desk and he spoke without even looking up from the papers he was perusing.

"Yeah." Steve wasn't surprised by his words – it hadn't been a difficult assumption to make.

"You want to tell me how I'm supposed to justify the expenditure?"

"My dad's life is in danger!" To Steve it was as simple as that and no other justification was needed. However, he knew that it would never be enough for Newman. "By announcing that the attempt on his life failed, he's deliberately set himself up for Gavin Reed to try again."

"Ah, the theoretical Doctor Reed." Still the other man didn't so much as glance up at him. "Five years ago Reed murdered his wife. He stabbed her to death. He then concocted an elaborate plan to frame Barbara Bennings for that crime. He placed her at the scene; he created a violent argument to give her motive; he even convinced her that she was guilty. But he was the one who committed the crime." He finally raised his head to look at his detective. "You'll forgive me if I'm having a hard time seeing the similarities here."

Steve winced at the sarcasm that had dripped from Newman's words, but he had no choice but to agree with them. This had nothing in common with the situation that they now found themselves in. There hadn't even been a reported sighting of Reed anywhere near the LA area for months.

Of course, there had been 'sightings' elsewhere – there always would be for as long as the man was still at large. After all, he was still on the 'Most Wanted' list and the reward for his recapture was substantial – but they inevitably turned out to be wild geese for the FBI to chase. There had not been one single, confirmed sighting of the man since the days following his escape. There were even some who believed that the man was dead – that retribution had caught up with him even though he had evaded the law.

And Steve was trying to sell his argument with nothing more than four muttered words witnessed only by his father. Mark had even admitted that he was groggy, that his memory had been fuzzy. There was even the possibility that his subconscious mind had concocted that memory to spare him from the painful truth.

Steve ran one hand through his hair – a totally unconscious gesture. He would never knowingly give his Captain any outward sign of the frustration that he was starting to feel. Newman, inevitably, saw the gesture.

"Your father didn't just tell Gavin Reed that the attempt on his life failed – he told the entire city," he pointed out. "And, like it or not, Mark Sloan has friends in some pretty high up places." His gaze bore into Steve. "What do you think I'm going to tell them when they demand a progress report?" He didn't pause long enough for Steve to respond, but answered his own question: "That I have a suspect in custody, but I'm not going ahead with a prosecution because there's a chance that a long-escaped felon has used hypnotism to exact never-threatened revenge?"

Put like that it sounded beyond unfeasible. It sounded ridiculous.

"But when Reed does crawl out of the woodwork and takes another shot at him…" Ridiculous or not, Steve wasn't about to give up.

Newman smiled a shark's smile as he neatly closed his trap: "Then you'll have your proof."

DMDMDM

Steve's growling stomach reminded him that his diet had been anything but balanced for the last couple of days, but he still skipped lunch. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was racing against time.

The logical part of him tried to reason that Reed would need time before making another attempt on his dad's life. His original plot had been complex and convoluted and they still didn't know all of the details. But it hadn't been planned on a whim. It had taken time and cunning. An assassination attempt inside the hospital would require the same.

But logic sometimes took a back seat with Steve – especially where his dad was concerned – and, though Steve had known that Newman would refuse his request for police protection, that refusal had him riled.

As far as he was concerned, the threat to his father was very real. The thought of him lying alone and vulnerable in his hospital bed added haste to his exit from the precinct.

He almost made it as far as his car when Tanis blind-sided him:

"As far as the security cameras are concerned then Travis is still in the hospital."

Her opening words left Steve momentarily lost – he had been so focussed on his dad and trying to save him from the seemingly suicidal path that he had set himself on. He stared at his partner, wanting to berate her for delaying his task – then her words finally sunk in.

"That's impossible," he said, slowly. "You've watched every monitor on every exit – covering a two hour plus window?"

"I recruited some help, but the results were the same." Tanis shrugged off the disapproving scowl that was aimed her way. "Travis didn't leave by any conventional method."

"Which leaves?"

"The unconventional," she smirked – and then swiftly elaborated: "A couple of fire exits – unfortunately, they're not all alarmed. Or maybe a window."

"Why the hell would Jesse..? Ah, forget it." Steve realised that his question was totally futile. "Was there any good news?"

"Well, the phrase 'good news' would depend on your perspective." She glanced sidelong at her partner. "I take it you've seen the headlines."

"Me and half the rest of the city," Steve growled in response, shooting her a warning glare that he was really not in the mood right now.

"It's a good way to drag Reed out into the open." Tanis chose her words carefully and cast no doubt that it was the fugitive who was behind the attack.

"It's a good way to get himself God-damned killed!"

The female detective had anticipated such a response and remained unphased by his outburst. "So," she asked, coolly. "What are you going to do about it?"

Steve looked at her in sheer disbelief. "I'm going to ask my father what the hell he was thinking," he snapped. "And then I'm going to make sure that Reed doesn't succeed in what he's set out to do."

"And what about Travis?"

_Jesse. _The shock of the news report and the sudden panic that had flared through him had pushed all thought of the young doctor from his mind. He knew that he could be blinkered when it came to his dad's safety, but he had certainly outdone himself this time. What had he been planning? Maybe keeping Jesse tied to his hospital bed until the rogue hypnotist was back behind bars?

"Christ…" he hissed, allowing his frustration to creep back to the surface.

And – though not especially close to her own family – Tanis empathised with him. He was so obviously torn: "How long?" she asked, softly.

"Huh?" The look that she got in return was completely bewildered.

"Didn't Newman set a deadline before the file was passed on to the DA? I'm guessing that, with the news breaking, he's not gonna want to wait around for results."

"Tonight, dammit." Steve glanced at his watch, but didn't bother elaborating on exactly how many hours they had left, as he was once again forcibly reminded of how it was impossible for him to be in two places at once. "If we don't have something solid by tonight, then…" He sighed again, unwilling – unable – to complete the threat.

"Let me deal with Travis."

Steve quirked an eyebrow at her, surprised by the offer – but also somewhat perturbed by her choice of words: "Deal with?" he echoed.

"Alright," she conceded. "Talk to him – find out what he knows."

"I already tried that."

"No, you didn't, Steve," his partner corrected him – a hard look entering her eyes. "First you interrogated him – and you were brutal. Hey, no-one blames you – he tried to kill your dad. And then, once we started asking the right questions, you were too wracked by guilt to do anything other than apologise." She smiled at the look that crossed his face – what had happened between him and Jesse wasn't common knowledge. "I know you too well, Sloan," was all she offered in way of explanation. "But let me ask you this: has anyone actually tried talking to him just as a material witness? Could you do that?"

Steve wanted to shoot back an angry retort – to argue that the job came first and that he would never let personal issues get in the way. But he was tired, he was more than a little concerned – and, most importantly, he knew that she was right. He nodded somewhat distractedly and took another step towards his car.

"Good luck."

Tanis's parting words were softly spoken, but he still picked up on them and he turned to give her a genuine smile: "You too."

TBC…


	28. Trance 28

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**SORRY!!! I didn't mean to take so long to update but Real Life is incredibly hectic right now. I'm in the middle of changing jobs and will continue to be very busy. Apologies in advance if the updates take a little longer and many, many thanks for all the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Eight.

Steve didn't break any speed limits on his way back to the hospital. He didn't turn on his lights or his siren. Instead, he drove at a pace that was almost sedentary. As much as his anger and his fear were compelling him to hurry, he knew that he needed the time to calm down.

It wouldn't do any good to be battling his temper when he next confronted his father – and, no matter what the circumstances, he wouldn't do anything that might risk compromising his fragile health.

He understood why Mark had gone behind his back in the way that he had – that part was easy. His dad had simply saved the inevitable arguments and stress and had taken the decision away from the one person who would categorically forbid him from taking such action. It was typical of his father – but that knowledge didn't make Steve feel any better at all.

Reed was a dangerous man – too dangerous to bait in such a manner. He had already proved how ingenious and resourceful he could be when it came to murder. And therein lay the rub.

The charge against Jesse was attempted murder; the evidence against him was so insurmountable that any jury in the land was bound to return a guilty verdict; any judge worth his salt would pronounce a lengthy prison sentence – and their dear friend would be left to rot. There could be no appeal, no uncovering of fresh evidence and no hope for his future.

And Mark Sloan would never sit back and allow such a thing to happen.

Neither would Steve, for that matter. But nor was he prepared to allow his father to sacrifice his very life in order to prevent it happening.

His dilemma still haunting him, Steve stalked towards his father's room and then eased the door gently open. His heart leapt into his throat when he realised that Mark was not alone. Then, as instinct had been guiding his hand towards his gun, recognition dawned and he stepped fully into the room – his puzzlement clearly evident on his features.

"Mac?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Just visiting, Steve." The friendly Sergeant smiled back at him – and there was something distinctly cagey about that smile.

"What's going on?" Steve didn't buy that all-too-innocent reply for one second.

"I wouldn't worry if I were you, Steve." Mark's eyes twinkled as he supplied the explanation. "I've a feeling that I'm going to be getting an awful lot of visitors from now on. I never knew that your colleagues cared so much."

* * *

Though Tanis had sounded wholly confident when she had volunteered to talk to Travis – to effectively take his statement – she couldn't help but feel a mild apprehension as she entered the infirmary.

She had spoken briefly to Steve about what had happened the last time he had spoken to his friend – of his abortive attempt to get some answers about Gavin Reed – and then had also had a quiet word with the duty doctor. By all accounts, Travis had been almost completely unresponsive since that visit. And Tanis recognised that her feeling of apprehension stemmed from the fact that she was afraid she might fail – that Travis might prove to be too far gone for her to reach. He might even never be held accountable for his actions, but instead just languish in a hospital bed, held in catatonia by his guilt and grief.

As she approached the still figure on the bed, she realised that she might not have been too far off the mark with that thought. The young doctor was lying completely still, not even seeming concerned by the restraints that held him. His eyes were open but glazed – and his gaze was focussed about a million miles away.

Tanis took a deep breath, determined that she wasn't about to let either her partner, or his friend, down. And the first thing she had to do was to get the young man to respond to her.

"Gee, Travis," she said, in as normal a voice as she could muster. "I sure the hell have seen you looking a whole lot better."

She had guessed that it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with anything even resembling normalcy and it was hard, even for her. For those who held the young man as close as family, it would have been impossible.

And her tactic worked. Blue eyes suddenly focussed and stared back at her in utter disbelief. His mouth opened as though to speak, but his voice seemingly deserted him at the last minute and he merely blinked up at her.

"So," she continued in that same conversational tone. "Do you wanna tell me what happened?"

"You… You don't know?"

His voice was scratchy and dry and Tanis automatically sought out some water. As she poured a cup from a nearby pitcher, she was pulled up short by the sight of the restraints. Travis wasn't capable of sitting up, let alone drinking under his own power. Making a sudden decision, she reached for the leather straps at his wrists.

"Don't!" His protest was instant and forceful, but the blonde cop merely raised a sardonic eyebrow at him.

"Why not?" she queried. "You think you might hurt me?" The answer was evident in his eyes, but it still didn't halt her actions. "I don't think so. I know that you've not been yourself; that you've been made to do some pretty out of character stuff; but I think that you're over it now. And if you're not being controlled, then I don't think you're going to try anything stupid with me in the room."

Her task complete, Tanis settled herself back into her chair, frowning slightly as Jesse made no attempt to either sit up or take a drink from the cup that she had placed nearby. She shrugged to herself and left it where it was.

"So?" she prompted, when Jesse just continued to look at her through guarded eyes.

"You know what happened," he murmured in response. Guilt still dominated his every thought and he couldn't understand why Steve's partner was being almost nice to him. It had caught him completely off-guard and he responded to her in spite of himself.

"I know what happened at the end." Tanis leant in closer still. "But I'm more interested in the beginning. Tell me: what's the last thing that you remember?"

The question threw Jesse for a loop. It wasn't something that he'd even considered. Since he woke up in the infirmary, he hadn't thought beyond the nightmarish visions of his own hands trying to choke the life out of Mark. He blinked and, totally unconsciously, eased himself further up onto the pillows. Then his brow furrowed as he seriously considered the request – and came up blank.

"Nothing." He answered on a sigh. "Nothing since I left the hospital."

"Nothing until you woke up in jail with a hangover." Tanis shook her head in disappointment. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it was certainly more than she'd got. But nor was she about to just give up. "Steve told me that you experienced some sort of a flashback when he tried to talk to you about being abducted. Do you remember that?"

For a moment, she genuinely feared that she had asked the wrong question. Jesse's eyes closed and a look of utter dread ghosted across his features. It looked as though she might have inadvertently driven him back into the dark place that she had only so recently dragged him out of.

"You okay?" she prompted, gently – wanting to snap him out of his daze, without undoing the work she had done so far. Then the young man shivered and his eyes blinked open.

"Not… not a flashback, really…" he stammered, in a voice so soft as to be almost inaudible. "Just… feelings…"

"What sort of feelings?"

"Cold and scared… and…" His brow furrowed as he tried to force a memory that wasn't really there. "It burned…" Now free to move, his hand reached up to rub gently at his throat, but Jesse wasn't even conscious of the action. "The whiskey… It burned…"

Suddenly an image slammed into his brain with the power to force a gasp from him. It was the image of a man with the cruellest eyes he had ever seen. And the man loomed over him, with every ounce of that cruelty directed at him.

"I see him…" he whispered, even as he brought up his hands to ward off an invisible attack. "Oh God, I see him…"

Such was the force of his reaction that Tanis glanced wildly over her shoulder – half expecting Jesse's mystery attacker to be creeping up behind them. But they were alone – and the young doctor's terror was focussed solely inwards.

"Easy, Travis, it's okay. You're safe." Tanis inwardly winced at her choice of word – though there was no imminent danger to the young man, his situation was anything but secure. But she chose not to draw attention to her lapse and concentrated on the task in hand. "So you remember a man. Can you describe him?"

"Evil…" The word emerged as a low and terrified moan.

"Okay, so that's a start." Again, the female detective found herself confronted with the unenviable task of snapping Jesse back into the real world. And, again, she opted for normality. "But how about something a little more physical? You know – hair colour, eye colour, that type of thing."

"Huh?" It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing and Travis was, once again, looking at her instead of being lost somewhere deep inside his own mind.

"You know, a description?" she prompted. "Something to help us find the guy?"

Jesse tried – he genuinely did. He could see the features of the unnamed man standing out clearly in his mind's eye, but he couldn't find a way to put them into words. He sighed miserably. "It… it was dark."

There was something in his voice that captured Tanis's interest. Something that told her that this was a part of another memory.

"Dark as in night?" she asked. "Or dark as in the lights were off?"

"Um… I think… not outside, but…" A light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Grey… small…"

Tanis's eyes narrowed as she processed the scant information. Small, grey and dark wasn't a lot to go on. "Was there a window?" she fished. "Could you see outside?"

"No. No window." Jesse sounded more sure of himself as hazy memories, blocked out by recent nightmarish events, flitted back into his mind. "A light. A light from behind him. It was dim and…" His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to recall the fleeting glimpses of his surroundings that were all that he'd had. "Cramped… The floor was hard… metal…"

"A vehicle, maybe?" Tanis suggested.

"Yeah." Her prompt helped the memory become more real. "Yeah, I think I was in a van."

The detective nodded her approval at what they had achieved. It was, if nothing else, another lead to follow. It wasn't much, but the parking lots at CGH had surveillance cameras installed.

"Okay, so maybe that's something to go on," she said, getting to her feet and mentally preparing herself for the reactions of the cops to whom she was about to 'delegate' more tedious CCTV viewing. "I have to make a couple of calls and I'll try and track down a police artist. See if you can come up with a sketch of this guy."

"You should…" Jesse glanced down at the restraints that now hung redundant and Tanis easily understood what he was trying to say.

"I don't think so," she replied. "But don't get any ideas, Travis. I'll be gone for about three minutes and if I hear that you've been anything other than a model patient, then you'll have me to answer to. Okay?"

"Yeah…" He wanted to protest, to argue that he deserved to be strapped down, but her treatment of him had left him feeling less of a villain and more of a victim. "Thank you."

* * *

Steve was still feeling somewhat bemused when Mac left his father's hospital room, only to be replaced by another colleague: Samson Clarke. Coincidentally, Clarke was also a veteran Sergeant – and a man who had often worked with Mark in the past. However, Steve didn't trust coincidences – especially not when they seemed to be centred around his dad.

He greeted the newest visitor cheerfully enough, but inwardly his mind was racing. Newman had specifically said that he would not put a police guard on Mark Sloan's door. It would not be beyond him, however, to actively encourage some of his officers to maybe visit the man whose life was allegedly under threat during their own free time.

Steve smiled at the thought and decided not to mention his suspicions aloud. First off, he wouldn't want to embarrass his Captain for going to such extraordinary lengths and second, he didn't care what the reason was behind it. He was just inordinately grateful that his father wouldn't be left alone, or unguarded, at least for the foreseeable future.

Silently thanking the fact that something had finally gone their way, Steve settled more comfortably in his chair. He was still rankled by the way that Mark had gone about things – putting himself in the firing line was never going to be an acceptable solution – but he wasn't about to embarrass his father by saying his piece in front of an audience and, judging by the mild contrition that was evident in the older man's eyes, Mark knew exactly how his son was feeling.

But before he could say anything, his cell phone burst into life. Steve grimaced at the sudden noise – such had been his haste, he had completely forgotten to switch it to silent mode, as was his practise whenever he visited the hospital.

With a shrug of apology, he got to his feet and left the room – even as he pushed the button that would answer the call.

"Sloan here." He conveniently ignored the look of disapproval that was aimed at him by a passing nurse.

"_Hey, Steve." _It was Tanis's voice that greeted him. _"How's Mark doing?"_

"Better," Steve answered, glancing back through the closed door of his father's room. "How did you get on with Jesse?"

"_Not so great – he doesn't remember a whole lot." _Her frustration carried down the phone line to him. _"He pretty much confirmed what we knew already: that his intake of alcohol wasn't voluntary. He said there was some guy, but couldn't come up with much of a description – we're working on that – and that he thinks he might have been in a van."_

"A van," Steve repeated, dourly. When she had said that there wasn't much, she hadn't been kidding. "And how the hell do we start tracking down 'a van'?"

"_I've got uniform going back over the hospital surveillance." _Somehow, Tanis managed to convey a shrug into her words. _"But it's a long shot."_

"And we're running out of time." Steve rubbed one hand over his face.

"_Hey, I know that you need to stay with your dad, but…"_

"No, that's all under control." At last he allowed a smile to touch his lips. "My dad's gonna be just fine. Tell me what else you've got."

"_I'm waiting on a police artist – see if we can get some idea of what the guy looked like but, Steve, I got the impression that it wasn't anyone he knew."_

"Dammit," Steve swore softly. A positive ID from Jesse would have made life a whole lot easier. Then a thought struck him. "But Reed might have changed a whole lot in the last five years – in fact, I'm betting that he has. We need to get hold of some computer generated images – of what he might look like now."

"_I'm on it."_ Tanis sounded peeved that she hadn't come up with that one herself.

"I'll meet you back there in about an hour." Just because Mark might have some protection – no matter what guise it came under – didn't mean that Steve could just forget about him. And he wasn't going to run away without spending some time with him.

It was hard for Steve not to be drawn into talking about Jesse – and that was the last thing that he wanted to do. Not when they still had so little to go on – and when his own guilt was beginning to gnaw at him with more and more insistence.

So he skirted the issue and then used the very real excuse that he still had work to do and headed back over to the precinct. He found Tanis standing in the doorway of the infirmary, looking in. Moving to stand beside her, he followed her gaze and almost smiled when he saw Jesse sitting up in bed, talking quietly to a man who had to be the police artist.

His smile failed because of the look on the young doctor's face. He was trying to be brave, but was clearly petrified – and it was obvious that he could barely stand looking at the sketch pad each time it was proffered to him.

"He's getting there, I think," Tanis murmured, not taking her eyes from the scene in front of them. "But it's hurting him."

"I don't think that we'll ever know everything that that bastard did to him," Steve snarled in response. "He was missing for hours."

"Do you wanna go take a look?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope that this guy's on any 'Most Wanted' list." Nothing had been that easy so far – and the detective wasn't about to expect that to change any time soon.

"Makes it more of a challenge," his partner shot back, sotto voce, as they approached the bed.

Steve shot her a disparaging glance, though he knew that she wasn't deliberately making light of the dire situation. She merely relied on her dry – and sometimes dark – humour to make their often gruesome career more bearable.

But Jesse was giving him more and more cause for concern. Now he was barely sparing the ongoing sketch the briefest glance before either nodding or shaking his head – and issuing only monosyllabic instructions as to what changes were or were not required.

They arrived at his bedside just in time to hear him whisper two words: "That's him."

The artist – Steve recognised him and knew his name to be Alec something-or-other – turned the pad towards them. But Steve didn't as much as glance in its direction. Jesse had turned onto his side and curled up so small that "foetal" would have been an exaggeration.

He instantly noted the inconsistency with what he should have been seeing and his eyes flickered to the restraints that now hung empty from the frame of the bed. He doubted that Police Artist Alec had released the young man – so that only left his partner. But Tanis was currently studying the sketch that Jesse's memories had enabled Alec to produce.

Steve continued to ignore it for a moment – his concern staying solely focussed on his friend. He so wanted to offer comfort, to try and take away some of his obvious agony – but he was unsure how he would be received.

But he had to try.

"You did good, Jess," he murmured – not giving a damn if the artist's impression had turned out to be nothing more than a stick man. Feeling bolder, he eased down onto the edge of the bed. "We'll get him now, buddy – I promise you that. He'll never hurt you again."

"I think I recognise him."

"What?" Tanis's words – as had been guaranteed – had his head snapping upwards and away from his traumatised friend. He remembered the comment he'd made about not getting that lucky.

"Not from the 'Most Wanted' lists, but definitely from somewhere." Her eyes narrowed as she realised why the face was so eerily familiar. "I've seen him in a sketch before!"

Steve spared one quick glance at Jesse's huddled form and then shot to his feet. Vaguely noting that the artist had, at some point, left them alone he dragged his partner out of the young doctor's earshot – needing to spare him any further trauma to that which he was currently undergoing.

"When?" he demanded, quietly but insistently. "Where? Was it anything to do with..?"

"Hey!" His partner overrode him, sharply. "Give me a minute to think." She half closed her eyes in order to do just that and Steve bit down on his impatience as he waited. Then she sighed heavily and disappointment swelled even before she spoke again: "It was an extortion racket that turned bad – this guy was the hired help and we only ever got the description." Her shoulders slumped. "We never even got a name – much less a conviction."

"Tanis…"

"I know, I know." She spared her own glance towards Jesse. "We don't have a lot of time."

"I was gonna say: get this picture circulated around the hospital. If this guy snatched Jesse from there, then someone must have seen something. And talk to his neighbours – this was too well executed not to have taken a whole lot of planning."

"I'll put the word out on the street," his partner added. "See if we can at least come up with a name."

"Yeah." Steve nodded approvingly. "Just do it quietly."

Tanis's responding smirk told him that she most definitely hadn't needed that warning. She knew her job and was good at it – and the last thing they wanted to do was scare their prey into flight.

TBC…


	29. Trance 29

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Many, many thanks for all the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-Nine.

Unaware that he been remembered and that steps were being taken to try and identify him, Liddell was doing some research of his own – he hadn't accepted any further offers of employment, with this one still feeling somewhat unfinished and the subsequent inactivity had left him with plenty of time to think.

He was fully aware of his own agenda – and of why this entire episode had left him feeling somewhat dissatisfied. After all, he had been keen to learn what was to become of Jesse Travis. However, that young man's name had been suspiciously absent in any of the recent headlines.

But, whilst his own behaviour had bordered on obsessive, it had been made to seem positively tame by the man who called himself Peter Hendrickson. The hypnotist had been like a man possessed as he carried out his quest for revenge against Mark Sloan. And he had been driven by a deep and passionate hatred of the man.

Liddell wasn't a man who hated. Though he might have been cruel and sadistic and have taken a perverse pleasure out of inflicting pain – he had never tortured someone through hatred. Other people were more than happy enough to let him take their frustrations out on their enemies.

And this made Liddell curious. What had Mark Sloan done to provoke such ire? He knew from his previous observations of the man that he worked as a consultant with the LAPD – and from there it didn't take a genius to figure out the potential connection.

Hendrickson wasn't who he pretended to be – and, somewhere in his past, Mark Sloan must have been responsible for making him need to change his identity.

His curiosity well and truly piqued, Liddell switched on his computer and logged on to the Internet.

It was amazing, he silently marvelled some twenty minutes later, just what you could learn by typing the word 'hypnotist' into a search engine. It was more than amazing – in fact it was staggering – because the last place that he'd expected to end up was at a website for "America's Most Wanted". But there he was and he was looking at a somewhat younger – and dark-haired and bearded – Peter Hendrickson. The website pronounced his real name to be Doctor Gavin Reed and the reward for his apprehension was substantial.

Totally engrossed by what he was reading, Liddell soon learned everything about the formerly highly regarded hypnotist and the murder that he had committed. As he read on about the man's fortuitous flight from custody, he was suddenly startled by the ringing of his cellphone.

A cautious man by habit, he glanced at the caller ID before answering and was utterly shocked to see the name of the man whose background he was currently prying into. Brief paranoia flared – but he quickly quashed it. There was no way that Hendrickson – or Reed, he mentally corrected – could have known what he was doing. But he still felt somewhat wary as he pushed the button that would answer the call.

"_I need Mark Sloan to die."_

His caller spoke before Liddell even had the time to utter a greeting. _Yeah, I just bet you do, _he thought – though he had more sense than to say the words aloud. Now was not the time to tip his hand. Instead, he said: "You never hired me to kill anybody."

"_Then it's time to renegotiate your contract."_ Impatience coloured the doctor's tone.

"That ain't gonna happen, doc," Liddell retorted, sure of the territory that he was in. "That contract's already been fulfilled. You already paid me."

"_Greed, Mr Liddell?"_ A hint of irritation crept into Reed's voice. _"What about the simple satisfaction of seeing a job well done?"_

"My job was well and truly done." The henchman smirked as his thoughts returned to Jesse Travis. "And this ain't about greed, doc. I think it was you yourself who said that there would always be work for guys like me."

"_How much?"_ Reed quickly got tired of the 'cat and mouse' game and cut straight to the chase.

_How much indeed? _Liddell mused – his eyes straying back to the computer screen and the half million dollars that was up for grabs in return for information leading to the capture and incarceration of Gavin Reed – information that he could readily supply. "Depends what old man Sloan's death is worth to you," he drawled, eventually. "And bearing in mind that he's in the hospital and won't be easy to get at."

"_Are you saying that you're not up to the job?" _Now there was a definite sneer of derision. _"I thought you were the best."_

"Ain't no point in trying to appeal to my ego, doc. I know I'm the best." He needed time to think – and refusing this latest job would only lead to questions and possible complications. Acquiescence was the easiest option. "You tell me what you're prepared to pay and I'll tell you if it's enough."

The figure that Reed came up with was exactly one fifth of what the FBI and various other law enforcement agencies had come up with for the recapture of the doctor, but Liddell – after seemingly taking some time to consider it – accepted the offer.

Once he had ended the call, he sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. He knew that he was playing a dangerous game in trying to double-cross the master hypnotist – after all, he had so recently learnt that the man was capable of murder – but his own desire far outweighed the risks.

The simple truth was that he really didn't want to see Mark Sloan dead and Travis eventually taking the fall for his attempted murder, because they would never, ever locate another suspect; not when his other option was to make more money than Reed could ever hope to offer him – and see Travis exonerated by the most unlikely mitigating circumstances, thus allowing the slim possibility that their paths might again cross one day. And when he thought about it like that, there really was no choice to be made. Smiling to himself, Liddell reached for his car keys.

* * *

After Tanis had gone, Steve stood where he was; looking back at Jesse and wondering what he should do. There was no way on this Earth that he was going to force the young man back into the restraints – if it were even possible for him to do so. Steve severely doubted that he would be able to uncoil the tightly curled form. Nor could he just leave him lying there, so clearly devastated.

Tanis had said that he'd been a little more talkative – and he'd held it together, if only just, long enough to work with the police artist. That in itself had to be classed as progress and Steve wondered if he could help that process along a little bit further. He crossed back to the bed and sat on the vacant chair at its side.

"Jess," he began, quietly. "I know this is really hard for you right now – but that man… Can you tell me what he did? Can you tell me why you're so scared?" He'd sat so that he was facing the younger man, even though Jesse currently had his eyes squeezed tightly shut – but tears still escaped them. "Jess, can you hear me, buddy?"

"It… it's not what he did…" The words seemed to be forced out from Jesse's lips. "It's what… I did… I can't… I can't…"

And this was the one thing that Steve didn't know how to fix. He could hunt down a bad guy; track down a killer; do everything in his power to ensure that justice was served. But he couldn't absolve Jesse of the guilt that was currently consuming him.

He remembered another dark time in their lives: when Jesse had inadvertently killed Richard Lock. He had been used and manipulated by the psychotic Chloe Marsden – and, though no blame had ever been levelled at him in the aftermath of the killing, it had taken him months to completely get over his actions.

_It wasn't your fault; you couldn't stop what was happening; you weren't to blame._ The platitudes were there, poised on Steve's lips, but he couldn't force them out into the open knowing how hollow and empty they sounded. He sought to say something that his friend might be able to believe in.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Jess, I swear that to you." And suddenly, blue eyes that were bright with emotion were staring back at him.

"No… You can't do that."

"Jesse…"An arm snaked out and snagged his wrist and he was surprised by the strength in that grip.

"Promise me, Steve." At last Jesse's voice had found some strength and his burning gaze only served to emphasise his point. "You have to lock me up – you have to lock me up so that I can't hurt anybody else. Promise me."

"You're not gonna hurt anybody else and I'm _not _gonna lock you up!" Outrage added unintentional volume to Steve's response. "You're a victim, Jesse – and in America, we don't incarcerate the victims." His own hand locked on the arm that still gripped his. "Those who are responsible will pay for this – and _that _I will promise you."

There had been passion in his outburst – passion and belief – but they still seemed to have little effect on the other man. Jesse let out a sigh that might have been torn from his very soul and his eyes closed again.

"Just answer me one question." His voice was, again, low and devastated. "Will you ever trust me to be in the same room as your father again?"

The answer should have been simple: affirmative and assured – but Steve couldn't bring himself to speak what might well have been a lie. And he couldn't speak it simply because he had been avoiding asking himself that very question.

It was true that Jesse was his best friend – and he had proved to be a very good friend over the years. It was also true that Steve knew him to be a kind, gentle and compassionate man, with a warm and generous heart. But Mark was his father – and Steve seriously doubted that he would ever be able to rid himself of the memory of what had transpired in Jesse's prison cell. Even now, he could all too vividly recall the terrifying moment when he had genuinely feared that his dad was dead.

So he couldn't offer Jesse any promises in that respect, simply because he didn't know. All he could do was continue to monitor his friend's recovery, help him in any way that he possibly could – and then they would have to cross that final bridge when they got to it.

Mark wouldn't shy away – Steve knew that without a shadow of a doubt. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if his dad insisted on seeing Jesse the instant that he was released from hospital. Steve didn't even try and analyse how he felt about that.

But he did know that when that meeting happened – as it undoubtedly would – then there was no way on Earth that he could leave the two of them alone. It simply wasn't a risk that he was prepared to take.

He looked away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured – knowing that, despite his best intentions, he had again only succeeded in adding to his friend's pain.

Suddenly sensing that he was no longer alone with Jesse, Steve glanced sharply upwards and saw that a uniformed cop now stood just inside the doorway. His 'at ease' stance, with his hands folded loosely behind his back, suggested that he was going to be there for the duration. Steve figured that Tanis must have sent him to keep watch over Jesse – and it was another unpleasant reminder that the clock was ticking against them. And that, just as he couldn't spend his time at his father's bedside, nor could he spend it trying to care for his friend.

Jesse's eyes were again closed and Steve knew that he was solely responsible for that. He shouldn't have pushed so hard in trying to get his friend to respond to him; he should have just left well alone and been satisfied with the small amount of progress that Tanis had made – progress which it looked as though he might have undone completely.

But he couldn't turn back the clock, unsay the words, or take away the pain that he had unwittingly caused. He couldn't even find anything remotely reassuring to say. Instead, he had to settle for dropping a gentle hand onto his friend's shoulder.

"Try to get some rest," he murmured, even though he knew how futile his advice was. How could such a tormented soul ever find peace again?

* * *

An hour later saw Steve slumped at his desk, trying to collate the various information that his colleagues were slowly providing. Uniform was doing most of the legwork and, so far, they had come up with nothing to place Jesse in any bar brawl – or, indeed, in any bar – on the night of his arrest.

They had yet to locate a single witness who could identify him from anywhere other than the hospital that day.

And, though the news was a long way from being conclusive, it certainly was encouraging. At the very least, they had not stumbled across anything that would completely disprove their theory.

Unfortunately, they were receiving the same response off the streets about the mystery man that Jesse had described. The type of person who might have known him wasn't the type who generally helped out the cops – and they still knew nothing more about him than they could see in the sketch.

The preliminary forensics report had been returned, but Steve swiftly discarded that when he realised that it contained no new information – only that the blood on Jesse's clothes had been his own and that it had contained traces of an unknown toxin. But Steve did still request for those clothes to be returned – intending to bag them and get them to Amanda in the hope that she might be able to learn more.

Neighbours had been questioned, with no success and nobody at the hospital could pinpoint anything particularly out of the ordinary – though with the comings and goings of a busy hospital, it was always going to be nigh on impossible to notice somebody out of place.

Steve bit back a groan as he looked at the scant information – and the complete lack of solid evidence. They were down to mere hours now and he was starting to run out of ideas. He didn't want Gavin Reed to try and kill his dad again but, at the present moment, that seemed to be their only hope.

Then a shadow fell over him and he squinted up to see Tanis smiling triumphantly down at him. She held a videotape in one hand and a stack of photos in the other.

"Do you want the live version, or the highlights?" she asked, brandishing those items.

"Huh?" Steve was too tired to offer anything more eloquent.

"Okay, so we'll go with the highlights." She eyed him critically for a moment, then shook her head and dropped into the chair next to him. The photos slapped onto the table, face up.

"A van?" Steve scowled at the grainy image – and then it hit him. "A van! Is it our van? I mean _the _van?"

Tanis chuckled softly at his sudden burst of enthusiasm. "It's looking a likely candidate," she answered. More photos were revealed, each one only slightly different than those previous. "This van entered a mostly disused lot at the back of the hospital at 3.30pm. It left again at 4.20."

"Exactly around the time that Jesse's shift was due to end." He studied one of the photos as though it could give him the answers he craved. "But I don't get it. If the lot was disused, why does it have CCTV coverage?"

Tanis shrugged, seeming to think about the question. "Well," she said. "It does have an emergency exit that leads from…" She paused just for long enough to prompt a glare from her partner. "The locker rooms."

"My God," Steve breathed. "This is gold. But why would Jesse..? Dammit!"

"What?" The sudden exclamation startled Tanis and then she could only watch in incomprehension as her partner scrabbled for a file that, typically, lay buried beneath just about everything else on his desk.

"I had a report from forensics about Jesse's belongings." He tugged the file free and Tanis had to move quickly to prevent the remainder from toppling to the floor. "I didn't pay much attention, but…" His eyes rapidly scanned the notes and then he stabbed at a line of text with one finger. "Jesse's cellphone received an incoming call at exactly four o'clock."

"And you think it was his kidnapper?"

Steve's brow furrowed as he read on. "They retrieved the number, but were unable to trace it." He sagged back into his chair. "Which still leaves us with a whole load of nothing."

"It leaves us with a damned sight more than we did have," Tanis argued, not willing to let him descend into a dark mood. "We have a definite timeline, for one thing – and I've got the guys in the lab trying to clear up these images enough to get us a look at the plate."

"But we still can't place Jesse in that van at that time." Steve was using the argument that he knew would be thrown at him by Newman. "We don't even know if that's the right van."

"It had no legitimate reason to be there – not at that time and not in that lot."

"We need to track it down – find some proof that Jesse was…" Just then, the phone on Steve's desk began to ring and he snatched it up. His father's attempted murder was his only case at that time – and the call just had to be related to it. "Sloan here."

"_I've got a guy on the line insisting on speaking to you, Lieutenant."_ The voice on the other end sounded both apologetic and exasperated. _"Sorry, Sir, but he won't give me a name. He said it involves a blast from the past and insists that you'll know what he's talking about."_

Steve sighed and ran one hand through his hair. Crank calls weren't exactly uncommon, but they were currently hunting for Gavin Reed – a real blast from his past – and he couldn't afford to ignore any potential lead: "Okay, put him through."

A click on the other end of the line indicated that the call had been transferred and he scribbled a quick note to Tanis on the edge of one of the files, instructing her to try and have the call traced.

"This is Steve Sloan," he said into the receiver, even as he wrote. "Who am I talking to?"

"_I'm a friend of an… old friend." _The voice on the other end of the phone gave no clues as to its identity – only that the person was male and local. _"Or perhaps 'old friend' is the wrong choice of words. Old enemy might be more accurate – or even 'the one that got away'."_

"I don't like playing games." There was a warning in Steve's voice, but he had a gut feeling that this call was anything but a crank. "Who are you?"

"_Patience, they say, is a virtue, Detective." _The voice retorted, mockingly. _"But I'll give you a clue: I understand that there's a half million dollar reward for information leading to the recapture of Doctor Gavin Reed."_

"Are you telling me that you have that information?"

"_I might. But first I will need certain… assurances."_ The mocking tone was suddenly dropped. _"If I give you the information that you need, you must promise me immunity for any… indiscretion I might have committed in the past."_

"You know I can't make that type of deal over the phone." Steve leant further forwards, his focus solely on the conversation. "Not without knowing what it is that you want immunity from."

"_I've never killed anybody, if that's what you're worried about." _The voice retorted, tartly. _"So, do I have your word?"_

"Not unless I get something in return – like your name." When only silence answered his request, he sighed in exasperation. "Look, I'm guessing that you intend to claim the half million that you referred to, so I'm gonna have to know who you are sooner or later."

A soft chuckle sounded down the phone line. _"Very clever, Lieutenant – appealing to my greed. Now, let me appeal to something that is important to you." _And now a snarl tainted the anonymous voice. _"Your father. Or, more specifically, your father's life."_

"You leave my father out of this!" Steve couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"_I'm afraid that that decision has been taken away from me,"_ the man said, with fake sympathy. _"You see, Gavin Reed really wants to see him dead. In fact, he has already taken steps to make that happen."_

"What are you talking about?" Steve's heart leapt up into his throat at those words.

"_He's hired a hit man. No elaborate plots this time – just a plain, old-fashioned assassination." _A malicious laugh followed those chilling words. _"So now are you ready to deal?"_

"How do you know so much?" The part of him that would always, foremost, be Mark's son wanted to shout out his agreement – anything to keep his father safe – but the cop in him won out.

"_Ah, so now the doubts begin to creep in." _The man answered with a heavy sigh. _"I wondered when that might happen."_

"I can't promise you immunity from anything based just on your word." Steve retorted, tightly. "I have to know that you're telling the truth."

"_Something to convince you that I'm telling the truth… Hmm, let me think…" _The sarcasm to his response easily carried down the phone. _"How about I ask you how Jesse Travis is right now? His name hasn't been mentioned on the news, but I know that he was the one who tried to kill your father. I know how and I know why. Is that good enough for you, Lieutenant?"_

And Tanis returned to Steve's desk just in time to hear him say two words: "I'll deal."

Tanis stopped dead in her tracks – momentarily stunned by what she'd just heard. Then she glanced down at the paper that she held and her eyes grew wide. She waved frantically at the edge of Steve's vision, desperately trying to communicate with him before he committed to something that he might regret following through.

Steve glanced up at her and she exaggeratedly shook her head, mouthing the word 'no' and brandishing her precious piece of paper. And Steve caught the message – and its urgency – in that one brief glance.

"Okay," he said down the phone line, seeking some way to stall. "So how do you want to play this? Are you ready to tell me your name yet?"

Tanis thrust the slip of paper at him and his eyes instantly saw that it contained a cellphone number – and one that he thought he recognised. Then he glanced towards the file from forensics and the very same number leapt up at him. His heart almost stopped. This was the same person who had phoned Jesse moments before his abduction. Steve felt sick. Suddenly a deal didn't seem like such a good idea any more.

He barely heard the now-hated voice when it spoke again – but the words registered in his shocked mind.

"_I'll be in touch, Lieutenant. I'll choose the time and the place – but we will meet alone. I'm sure you would understand if I insisted on getting the terms of our deal in writing."_

And the phone was hung-up, leaving Steve feeling shocked and torn – and carrying the unenviable burden that he might be forced to betray his best friend by knowingly letting his torturer walk free.

TBC…


	30. Trance 30

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Many, many thanks for all the reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty.

Liddell was a long way removed from being stupid. He knew exactly how to yank Steve Sloan's chain – and how to put him on the back foot and keep him there, giving him no time to think or plan or gain the upper hand in any way.

He also knew full well the kind of resources that the police had at their disposal. They would be able to trace the number that he was calling from, but it wouldn't do any good. He had received assurances that his cellphone could never be traced back to him – and it hadn't let him down so far. But he hadn't been so complacent to believe that they wouldn't be able to track down his location via his signal and so had driven slowly around the back streets of a neighbourhood on the other side of town for the duration of the call.

It had proved to be a thoroughly rewarding experience – and that was nothing to do with the money that would soon be heading his way. He had practically sensed the moment that Steve had realised who he was talking to and had revelled gleefully in the dilemma that this presented to the detective.

Steve was being forced into a position where, in order to keep his dad safe and recapture a long escaped felon, he had to let the man who had so badly hurt his friend walk away scot-free.

That was the sole reason that Liddell had hung up before finalising any arrangement with the detective. He enjoyed the suffering of others – even if he wasn't there to witness it first-hand. But he would leave Steve to sweat for a while, to wrestle with his conscience and torture himself trying to find some solution that wouldn't involve him betraying either his friend or his integrity.

He couldn't delay for too long, though. Sloan was devious and clever – and the more time that he had to think, the more likely he would be to come up with some sort of a plan. And Liddell wasn't about to allow him the luxury of such time. The key to his success was maintaining the impetus and calling the shots.

He knew better than to try and anticipate exactly how the cop would react – he knew that the man and his father could be downright ingenious and he had no desire to see that ingenuity become his downfall.

Liddell pulled into a diner and indulged in a single cup of coffee before getting back in his car and, this time, dialling the number to Steve Sloan's cellphone – just one more thing that he had taken from Jesse Travis.

The detective answered after only the second ring – and he answered with a curt: _"Are you ready to talk to me now?" _that suggested that he'd instantly recognised the incoming number.

Liddell smirked. "Meet me at the old Texaco station a mile off PCH – you know the place – in…" He glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes." Barely enough time for the detective to get there, let alone arrange for any sort of concealed backup. "And you come alone, or the whole thing's off."

"I can't…"

"I'm a reasonable man and I don't expect the half million right now," he chuckled. "Just you and me in twenty minutes – or the hit man gets a crack at your father and Gavin Reed escapes you again."

"_How will I know you?"_ The frantic attempt to stall for time was evident in Steve's voice.

"You won't have to know me, Detective. I'll know you," he said – and then he hung up.

* * *

Steve switched off his phone and just sat staring at it for a long moment. "I have twenty minutes to get out to PCH or Gavin Reed walks," he said eventually.

"It's too dangerous."

The other man's response had been entirely predictable. Captain Newman might have been considered gruff, or even harsh, by some people – but he would never knowingly put his men at risk.

"Sir…"

"It could be a trap." Newman interrupted the protest with typical bluntness. "You've made a lot of enemies over the years."

"He knows too much." That was what Steve had been trying to explain to his superior when the phone call had disturbed them. "He knows where Reed is and he knows who's been hired to try and kill my father – again."

Newman cocked an eyebrow and Steve frowned to himself. Had he really not mentioned that up to now?

"He's playing you," the Captain said into the silence.

"I know he is." The mysterious caller had made the one threat that was guaranteed to provoke a reaction. "But I have to go."

"And if I order you not to?"

Steve didn't bother with a verbal response, but just gave Newman a 'look' – one that prompted a sigh from the older man. The Captain knew that look only too well: go with his blessing or go against orders – it didn't matter because there was no way that Steve wasn't going to make that rendezvous.

It wasn't a blessing exactly – just a curt 'go' – that had Steve racing out to his car and peeling away in a cacophony of burnt rubber, flashing lights and screaming sirens. He barely had enough time to make it to his destination, even with those dramatic measures in place and he certainly couldn't afford to pay any heed to the traffic laws. He was bound and determined that he wasn't going to let this one chance slip away from him.

The mystery man had chosen the meeting place well, Steve reflected as he tore down PCH – knowing that, no matter how fast he went, he would still be a few minutes late. He would have had to commandeer a helicopter in order to make it on time.

Worry gnawed in his gut that the man wouldn't wait, but he found the thought somewhat unlikely. For the sake of a couple of minutes – of a deadline that had been nigh on impossible to keep – he doubted that anyone would find it easy to walk away from the promise of a half million dollars.

Besides, he knew that he could be seen from miles away, with the cloud of dust that he was kicking up as he peeled off the main highway and raced down a mostly disused section of the road. That was part of what made it such a clever meeting place. It was virtually impossible to sneak up on the long-abandoned gas station unnoticed and whoever might be waiting there had good enough vantage to make a hasty exit should they so much as sense anything suspicious.

Steve finally slowed down as he approached the run-down building, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary and his Captain's words about it being a potential trap were at the forefront of his mind.

There was a car parked where the pumps had once stood – a midnight black Porsche 911 Carrera, normally a car that he would have taken a moment to admire. Now he spared it only the briefest glance, enough to take in and memorise the personalised plate: "R1CH 1". Rich 1. Steve's lip curled at the sheer arrogance of whoever owned that car, idly wondering if the man's name was Richard, or if the plate was a testament to his wealth.

Steve parked alongside it and got out of his own car. The area seemed deserted, even though the Porsche gave lie to that appearance. The main building of the old station looked as dilapidated as the rest of the place, but he could still see a rusty chain and padlock in place to thwart any trespassers. That left the structure off to one side, which a faded sign proclaimed to be the restrooms. Steve wrinkled his nose in distaste – not his first choice of location for any type of a rendezvous – but he moved towards it anyway.

He approached cautiously, with his jacket hanging open and his gun within easy reach, but he was still taken by surprise when a man suddenly stepped into view – seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Not bad, Lieutenant," the man said, glancing deliberately at his watch. "You must have broken some speed limits to get out here so fast."

Steve silently applauded Jesse. His work with the police artist had been brilliant because Steve instantly recognised the face before him from that drawing. Any hope that his mystery caller was _anybody _other than the man who had so brutalised his friend was quashed.

"You must be 'Rich'." He spoke slowly, striving to maintain his cool. This wasn't going to be easy.

"And about to get richer!" The man laughed at his own pun and Steve's hackles rose. He already hated the guy with a passion.

"I didn't drive all the way out here to listen to bad jokes," he snapped. "You said you had information on the whereabouts of Gavin Reed. So start talking."

"Not so fast, Detective." Both his voice and his eyes had a distinct edge to them. "First we deal."

"I already told you I would." Steve didn't want to be reminded that he was in the process of betraying his best friend – whatever the reasons behind it.

"And I can tell from your eyes that you know who I am," the other man countered. "I don't want to imply that I doubt your integrity, but I need something a little more… reassuring than just your word."

Steve bristled anew at the implicit insult, but refused to take the bait. "Then tell me what you want," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"You already know what I want." The insufferable smirk again resurfaced. "Now we just need to work out the finer details as to how you're going to ensure that I get it."

The man reached into his pocket and Steve tensed, his fingers twitching as he fought the instinct to draw his own gun. Then he was mildly surprised when the hand re-emerged holding a small Dictaphone.

"Here's out it's gonna work," the man continued, toying with the device. "I record this conversation and then you sign a statement to its authenticity. I give you the information that will lead you to Gavin Reed and then, once I've had my money wired to my overseas account, I give you the name of the man who is going to kill your father."

"No." Steve's response was vociferous. "You said that the hit-man had already been hired. We…"

"All the more reason for you to ensure that this goes down smoothly," came the instant response. "Let's call it a little incentive."

"Listen to me…"

"No, you listen to me." The man's voice suddenly became low and threatening. "It goes down this way, or it doesn't go down at all. Your choice."

Steve was furious, but he was also helpless. He could arrest the guy, but that would be a sure-fire way to lose the only lead to the man who had already been paid to kill his father.

There was always the chance that this man might betray him – might give him Reed and take his money and then disappear without imparting the piece of information that Steve craved more than anything. But, in the heat of the moment and with the pressure on, he was having a hard time thinking up a way to prevent that eventuality.

He nodded slowly and gestured with his eyes for the recording to begin. As soon as the relevant button was depressed, he spoke again – and his voice was equally dangerous as the other man's had been: "For the record," he snarled. "If anything happens to my father as a result of all this, then I promise that you'll _never _get the chance to spend that money."

"_For the record,_" Richard Liddell mimicked. "I have absolutely no interest in your father. You'll get what you want – after I get my money."

Steve took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "You want immunity in exchange for information," he said, evenly. "Immunity from what?"

"Everything!"

"That's not quite how it works." Steve somehow managed to keep his cool. "I can't make promises for other jurisdictions. You'd have to get the FBI involved for that."

"So… only my Los Angeles sins…" A smirk accompanied the words. "Okay, so how about we start with Jesse Travis?"

"What about him?"

"You mean you never missed him before that night?" Liddell shook his head, mockingly – enjoying seeing the heat of anger rise within his adversary. "I kidnapped him for three consecutive nights. Wow, you're not very observant, are you?"

"No charges will be brought…" Steve forced the words past a sudden tightness in his chest. _Three _nights? How could he not have noticed? The pain of betrayal gnawed ever deeper. "Was it you who..?"

"I played my little games with him." Liddell shrugged, secure in the knowledge that Gavin Reed was a much bigger fish than he would ever be. "I must admit, the alcohol was simply inspired."

"You son-of-a…"

"Now, now Lieutenant. You don't want me walking away from this, do you?" His eyes scanned the horizon. "I'm certain that you haven't come out here without telling anyone. How do you think your superiors would react if Gavin Reed were to slip through your fingers – again – just because you couldn't keep your temper?"

Steve took a deep breath and swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, clamping down on the vitriolic words that he longed to let loose. "Keep talking," he snapped.

"I will not face any charges for the three occasions that I kidnapped Doctor Travis, or for anything that I might have done during those times. I will not be held at all responsible or liable for any injuries that he may have suffered." He smirked at Steve again. "What else..? Oh yes, I will not be implicated – in any way – in the attempted murder of your father."

"Agreed – but if anything does happen to him…"

"I'm getting tired of this argument!" Liddell snapped, with sudden irritation. He was itching to mention Utah – to let Sloan know how personally involved he had been in that particular nightmare. He wanted to see horror and revulsion – and then helplessness, when he realised that he could still do nothing without jeopardising his father's life. But the Lieutenant's words about other jurisdictions forced him to hold his tongue. He couldn't afford for the FBI to get hold of that information. "You trust me or you don't trust me. Decide now."

"Alright, alright." Steve was quick to appease the man, knowing that he couldn't afford to blow it now. There was way too much at stake. "You've got your deal. Now, tell me about Gavin Reed."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Steve still stood in the forecourt of the abandoned Texaco station. He watched until the cloud of dust raised by the midnight black Porsche was almost out of sight and then his eyes fell to the notebook that he held in his hand.

He had an address. He had an address for Gavin Reed and he had no reason to doubt that the address was genuine. Hell, he even had a phone number for the escaped felon, but he wasn't about to try calling that number and risk scaring the man off.

Nor did he have any time to lose. Yes, he had the information – but his informant had done little to inspire confidence and he still suspected that a double-cross was not totally out of the equation.

His eyes drilled into the paper that he held as he fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone. He was memorising both the address and the phone number – just in case some freak gust of wind were to suddenly snatch it from his hands. A moment later, he heard his partner's voice as she picked up.

"Tanis," he said – still clutching his notebook for dear life. "I think we've got him."

"You do?" Tanis couldn't keep the shock or disbelief out of her voice. "You mean there was no-one waiting out there who wanted to try and kill you?"

"Maybe he did, but the half million dollars was a whole lot more appealing," Steve smirked in response. Now that the threat had passed, he could inwardly admit just how concerned he had been about the rendezvous.

"Then where the hell is he?"

Steve chuckled softly at her impatience and then reeled off the address that he had been given.

"Damn…"

When he heard the soft curse that she uttered in response, Steve's stomach clenched. He had been convinced that the man had been genuine about the location of Reed – if nothing else. It sickened him to think that he might have read it so wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, tightly – not wanting to give voice to his fears.

"That's a high-end rental complex, Steve," she explained softly, having instantly recognised the location. "It's not cheap, but it's not permanent either. Reed might not even still be there."

"Oh, he'll still be there," Steve answered with conviction now that he knew the cause for her concern. Because the one thing that he was sure of following his meeting with 'Rich' was that Gavin Reed wouldn't be going anywhere until he knew that Mark Sloan was dead.

* * *

Steve had known that his Captain wouldn't wait – and it didn't matter how quickly he made it back into town. He wasn't going to be a part of the raid on Gavin Reed's home.

A large part of him resented the fact so deeply that he had almost withheld from making the call to Tanis; of not revealing the fugitive's address until he was in a position to be a part of the action. But he was too good a cop to carry through with that fleeting plan.

Reed had been on the run for five long years and his recapture had to be the utmost priority. It didn't hurt that he was the only one who could prove that Jesse was innocent of the charges that still stood against his name.

No, time had to be of the essence and so he grudgingly accepted the fact that he would not be there to see the look on Reed's face when the authorities finally caught up with him again. There was also another reason for his haste: his mystery informant had been adamant that he would say nothing of the hired hit-man until he had received his money – and that wouldn't happen until Reed was safely behind bars. And Steve would, quite simply, have sacrificed anything to ensure his father's safety – even his own retribution against the man who had caused them all such hell.

Still, it was a strange feeling to walk into the precinct to find it eerily quiet, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of tension hanging in the air. He guessed that the bust was going down right then – and so he was surprised to find Tanis waiting for him at his desk.

"I thought you'd have joined the party," he said, frowning as he watched her fingers dance over the keyboard of his computer.

"Surplus to requirements," she answered with a grimace. "The feds have taken a personal interest in this one."

"What?" Steve's heart sank at her words, though he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. The FBI were always going to be looking to take over – the trouble was that their motives weren't the same as his. He grabbed for his cellphone. "Hell no," he muttered.

"Easy, Sloan." Tanis's reply was surprisingly. "Newman's overseeing this one personally. He won't let them steal your thunder."

"It's not thunder I'm worried about," Steve snapped in response. "It's my dad and Jesse. The feds aren't gonna…"

"The feds aren't running the show – the department is. They're just happy enough to have their man and strike another name off the 'Most Wanted' list." She smirked up at him. "We'll be able to witness the interrogation."

"Witness..?" He almost choked on the word.

"Unless you want to tell our esteemed Captain that you think you could do a better job."

With a soft groan, Steve sank into the nearest available chair. His day was rapidly going to hell – but the one positive note was that he did trust his Captain. He knew exactly what was at stake – and Steve was surprised at just how confident he felt that his superior would ask all of the right questions.

TBC…


	31. Trance 31

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**I'm so, so sorry for the huge delay in updating, but I have just been really busy. Many thanks to those of you who are continuing to stick with this story and leave such wonderful reviews.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-One.

"You escaped the death penalty the first time. You're not going to escape it again." Newman's voice was flat and uncompromising.

From behind the two-way mirror to the Interview Room, Steve and Tanis watched in silence. Unconsciously, they had both adopted the same stance: leaning against the edge of a table, with their arms folded. Even their eye movements almost echoed each other; flicking from Reed to Newman to the fed – Guy Olsen – before beginning the circuit again.

Reed was already attired in a standard orange jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed in front of him. Given that he was an escapee, his ankles were also shackled and there were two armed and alert police officers standing by the door.

But, at that moment in time, Gavin Reed looked anything other than a threat. He looked broken and beaten and utterly terrified. He looked towards Newman and his mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

"Death Row," Newman reasserted. "And you'll be having a hard time putting together an appeal. You murdered your wife. You escaped from prison. You plotted the murder of Mark Sloan and, when that failed, you hired a hit-man to finish the job. It doesn't matter that you failed…"

"You can't know that!" Reed shot upright in his seat and his shock was apparent to everyone. "Travis couldn't tell you anything, we made sure of that, and…"

"_We?_" Newman leapt on that one word. "You're trying to tell me that this wasn't solely your actions? You're the hypnotist, the expert at mind control. We've seen before how good you are at this. Why the hell should I – or any of us, or any Judge – believe that you needed to bring in outside help? You worked alone the last time."

"Because it's impossible!" Reed would have leapt to his feet had his shackles allowed it. But, even though he was bound, one of the cops stepped forwards and placed a restricting hand on his shoulder. The prisoner visibly wilted. "I needed the drug…"

Outside the Interview Room, Steve and Tanis exchanged a triumphant glance. Newman had made it look easy.

* * *

Yoshimoto's name was the first to be disclosed. His last known hotel accommodation and cell phone number soon followed. Next came information on Richard Liddell – who Steve instantly recognised as being his informant.

When faced with the prospect of the death penalty, Reed's tongue became incredibly loose. He was offered the most meagre of deals in return for his co-operation, but he grasped at it with both hands.

Steve felt triumph flood through him as the interrogation continued and Reed dug himself deeper and deeper into the hole that he'd found himself in. No doubt was left in anybody's mind that Jesse had been a mere pawn in an elaborate and convoluted plot. And the entire scene was captured on both video and audio tape – which would surely be enough to convince even the most sceptical DA.

He wanted to bask in his triumph; he wanted to rush to the infirmary and tell Jesse the good news; he wanted to break that same news to his dad and Amanda – but a cloud still hung over him.

Richard Liddell was not only going to walk away scot-free, but he was also going to wind up a half million dollars richer.

With a sigh of frustration, he spun away from the observation window. He was the man who'd brokered the deal. And he wasn't entirely sure that he could live with that.

Even though his back was turned, he could still hear the interrogation continue. Nothing else that was said mattered over anything else he'd heard. Jesse was exonerated and Reed was as good as dead – his 'deal' had only contained the promise that the feds would _try _and convince the DA not to push for the death penalty. Liddell would get his money and the hit-man would be stopped. The whole saga was as good as over.

"Why doesn't it feel like we've won?" he asked – even though he knew the answer to that very same question. It was for the same reasons that he still had a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Because we haven't." Tanis answered anyway, even though she'd figured that the question had been merely rhetorical. "Not as long as that scumbag is still walking free." She too had turned away from the interrogation. "But we will win, Steve." She placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and then waited until he made eye contact. "We'll get Liddell," she promised. "People like him will always slip up. I recognised him from his sketch…"

"And I exonerated him from all his Los Angeles crimes!" Steve snapped in response, his guilt tightening like a fist around his heart.

"Didn't you say that he spelled out those crimes to you?" she argued, not wanting to see her partner so despondent. "I don't remember you mentioning any extortion rackets – and I know he's still on the books for that one."

"A sketch made two years ago, by a man who was too scared to testify anyway." Steve's shoulders were slumped. "I can't see us securing any conviction on that one."

"Hey, he slipped up then. What's to say that he won't do so again?"

"Because he's a half million dollars richer!" He resented that fact more than anything else right now. "We'll probably never see him again."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Tanis's response was low and tentative, as though she never entirely agreed with what she was suggesting.

Then her eyes locked with her partner's and she easily read everything that they contained: his terror over his dad; his continued fear for his wellbeing; his sense that he had betrayed his best friend and the ever present empathy for what that friend still endured. And underneath it all was more than a hint of self-loathing that he had willingly allowed all of this to happen.

"I can't believe it's going to end this way," he murmured. He had never willingly allowed someone to get away with such crimes and it was crippling him to do it now.

"It's for your dad's sake," his partner reminded him, gently. "Liddell knows…"

Then Steve whirled so suddenly that Tanis unconsciously flinched away. There was a new fire in his eyes and an expression of determination that completely eclipsed the frustration that had previously so enshrouded him.

His gaze bore through the Interview Room window: "Liddell's not the only one," he muttered and, before Tanis could even react, he wrenched the door open and invaded the interrogation.

* * *

Neither Newman nor Olsen, the FBI agent, existed in the moment that he burst into the room. His gaze was focussed solely on the prisoner – shackled and subdued, broken and looking fearful for his very life, Reed flinched away from his dramatic entrance. Steve never even felt the slightest twinge of pity.

Recognition dawned in Reed's face even as Steve planted both palms firmly on the table that separated them.

Olsen's instinctive reaction was to reach for his gun – but Newman was quicker and had reached out a restraining arm even before the weapon was clear of its holster. The uniformed cops had also responded with alacrity, but their movements were to provide backup to the detective that they both knew and respected.

Steve easily ignored them as well and leant threateningly over the former fugitive.

"The hit man," he growled. "Who is he?"

"You… You…" Reed couldn't even form the words as Steve towered over him like an avenging angel.

"You've paid someone to finish what you started. Tell me his name or all deals are off and when you get the lethal injection, I'll administer it myself."

Olsen took a half step forward: "You've got…"

"Lieutenant Sloan is still the lead investigator on this case." Newman's voice, though calm, caught the attention of everyone in the room. "The FBI were never officially handed jurisdiction. You," he said to Olsen alone, "were only allowed in here as a courtesy. No deals were ever made."

And though Steve's heart swelled with gratitude at what his Captain was doing for him, he never allowed his burning gaze to stray from the eyes of Gavin Reed. Now it seemed as though the master hypnotist was the one held in thrall, because he too was powerless to avert his gaze.

"His name and you might get the chance to live." Steve's tone was solid and uncompromising. "Give me his name and we might talk a deal."

"I need…" Reed had lost every ounce of the confidence that had once exuded from him. "Please, I…"

"Pleading won't work. Begging won't work. As far as you're concerned, I don't have a better nature." He smiled a shark's smile. "His name, or Death Row. Choose now."

"If I tell you…" Reed couldn't help but bluster.

"_When _you tell me, then I'll turn you over to the Feds. Then you can talk deal."

"I need assurances…"

"The only assurance you'll get is that if you don't start talking, you will die. Who is the hit man?"

Reed stared up into the Detective's eyes. He was an expert at the human psyche and, in truth, knew most people better than they knew themselves. And he could see that Steve Sloan meant every single word that he said – and he had the connections to turn his beliefs into a reality. He sagged into his chair as much as his restraints allowed.

"It's Liddell," he muttered, unable to keep the sullenness out of his voice – that had been his last card to play. Now he was at the mercy of those who held him. "The thug we hired to kidnap Travis – he was local and he was good at what he did. I offered him a hundred grand to finish the job – and I paid him half up front."

Steve's heart was hammering in his chest as he absorbed that information. If what Reed had said was true, then the saga was truly over.

Suspicion took over that the answer was way too convenient – that it might even be a form of payback if Reed had figured that Liddell had sold him out.

"And we should just take your word for that?" Newman stepped into the silence that descended. "Don't you think that's just a little convenient? Do you have anything other than your word?"

Reed shook his head and his trapped eyes flicked between the major players in the room. He might wind up dying anyway, but if he could convince them that he spoke the truth then he at least stood a chance.

Sloan was going to be of no help and Newman was nearly as unmoving. That only left Olsen – the FBI agent – and it was to him that his next words were directed.

"I… I paid him half already. And I paid him… I paid him for what he did to Travis…" He was blustering, but couldn't help it. This was the only chance he had to save his own life. And, while prison was the only other option that he had to look forward to, he had escaped from custody before. There would be no chance of escape if he was dead. "You can check my bank accounts, you can check anything." As only sceptical looks continued to be aimed in his direction, his desperation grew. "He was paid twenty grand for the kidnappings – ten up front and then ten after the third time. Check my… Check where the money went to – you can do that. Another fifty went in. That was a down payment on the hit – I swear it."

"And the rest?" Olsen was unperturbed by the glowers that he received for taking over the questioning. "When were you going to pay the balance?"

"When Sloan was dead."

Silence fell across the room and then Steve's laughter filled the void, but it was fleeting and steeped in disbelief – and held nothing that even remotely resembled mirth.

A jerk of Newman's head had the uniforms leading Reed back to his cell and then he raised a questioning eyebrow towards his star detective – silently reminding him that they were in the company of the FBI. And that they were working under a very tentative agreement over jurisdiction.

"There really is no honour amongst thieves." Steve's lip was curled in disgust. "Dammit, it was Liddell who sold Reed out." He laughed again, harsh and nasty – the laugh of a bully, or a sadist, finding pleasure in another's downfall. "He played all of us and he thinks he's won. Dammit, I'm almost grateful…"

He stopped then, aware of the eyes that were on him. His gratitude wasn't to Gavin Reed – it would never be for that – but to fate for allowing him closure. He took a deep breath and then turned to look Olsen in the eye for the first time.

"Confirm what he said about the payments," he said – not at all sure that he was in any position to be giving the man orders. "Then he's all yours."

"You played us, Lieutenant," the Fed snapped in response. "We rely on the public. We rely on them having faith in our integrity. We offer rewards for the 'most wanted' and, when they're captured, we pay those rewards. It keeps US citizens vigilant and willing to help us."

"And your 'helpful' informant will get everything he deserves." Newman overrode the angry retort that Steve had begun to offer. "Do what you need to do. Present whatever propaganda you want. Pay Liddell the half million if you really want to. He might even get out of jail in time to bequeath it to a loved one."

"We can't arrest him," Steve ground out, through gritted teeth – and the words were the hardest he'd ever spoken. "I gave him a deal and he has it on tape."

He expected Olsen to smirk – to gloat, even – but, instead, the agent gave him an appraising look.

"What kind of a deal, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"That he can't be held accountable for the attempted murder of my father." The answer was accompanied by a self recriminating sigh.

"The one involving Jesse Travis?" Olsen asked the seeming redundant question and then elucidated: "You said he has it on tape – how specific were you?"

"The kidnappings, the assaults, the attack… everything…" Steve shook his head, seeing no way out.

"What about 'conspiracy to commit murder'?" Olsen watched as understanding dawned. "He accepted the contract – it doesn't matter that it was a double-cross. He took payment to assassinate your father. And I'm guessing you never offered him immunity from _that._"

"We've got him," Steve breathed, almost overwhelmed by his relief.

"Now all you have to do is find him," Newman reminded him. "And bring him in."

* * *

Tanis was nowhere in sight when Steve exited the Interview Room, but he didn't pause to give it thought. He waited impatiently – not quite tapping his foot, but close – as Newman and Olsen concluded their own quiet conversation. He could have listened in, but knew that they were discussing the finer details of cross jurisdiction and so paid them no heed. It was all he had in him to shake the FBI man's hand when he eventually approached him again.

He accosted his Captain mere moments later: "So Jesse's off the hook now?" he demanded. "The charges against him are dropped?"

"They will be." Newman's answer was wary and lacking his usual bite. It was then that Steve realised that he was not, by far, the only one who had been putting in impossible hours. "It needs to go through channels, but he will be released. When and how is a different matter."

"When and how?" Steve was openly incredulous. In his mind, the whole ugly episode was over. "What does that mean?"

"It means that Travis has been virtually catatonic since his arrest. Circumstance and reason might not be enough to change that. Are you one hundred per cent certain that he's in any condition to be simply returned back to his life? How do you think he's going to react? How do you expect him to function?"

"But he's innocent," Steve ground out – unable to believe that he was still having to plead his friend's case.

"No he's not – not totally. He's innocent of culpability; innocent of intent; innocent of accountability for his actions." Newman's look turned grave. "But those actions remain. I'll convince the DA that no charges should be brought – it's up to you to convince Travis that they're not deserved."

Once he was alone again, Steve closed his eyes and sagged back against the wall. He'd said that it was over, but also knew that his Captain was right. He might have found closure for himself – but it was going to take a lot more for Jesse to do the same.

The task ahead of him looked to be an impossible one – and he wasn't sure that he would be able to accomplish it alone. He considered his dad and Amanda and knew that they would both want to be a part of what he was about to do. But that only pulled his thoughts around in a complete full circle.

It was Jesse himself who had asked the question; the very man who he was trying to help who had given voice to his deepest fear: what if Jesse tried to kill Mark again? What if everything that Reed had done to him was permanently embedded in his brain? What if Jesse couldn't ever recover?

How could he possibly ask his father to help him, even though he was the most qualified to do so? How could he even ask Amanda? Jesse had hurt her, too, on that fateful day. And Jesse was already steeped in guilt over what he had done. Steve also had to consider that they would only hinder Jesse's recovery, no matter how well intended their attempts to help might be.

That only left him – and Tanis, who had somehow managed to reach Jesse, no matter how unorthodox her methods might have been. They had worked and Jesse had opened up to her – but she was nowhere to be seen.

Steve's head dropped to his chest. He couldn't wait – it wasn't fair on Jesse. His friend needed to know that he had been exonerated from his crime, that the law had cleared him of any blame. Maybe that would be what Jesse needed to help convince himself of the same.

* * *

Mentally steeling himself, he finally left the anteroom and headed straight towards the infirmary. In spite of his reluctance to do so, he was going to have to talk to Jesse alone.

He pulled out his cell phone as he walked and pressed the button that would speed-dial Amanda's phone. He wanted to share the good news with her and also let his dad know that all charges had been dropped against Jesse. It would help to set both their minds at ease – but he was also worried about what other reaction it might provoke from them.

Amanda, he knew, was desperate to talk to Jesse – and he knew that his dad would feel the need to do the same. And that just returned him right back to his original problem. The only way to ever know if Jesse would make another attempt on Mark's life was to put them in the same room together – to recreate the situation that had caused the first attack. And there was no way that he was ever going to allow that little experiment to take place.

It wasn't until he heard Amanda's voice on the other end of his phone that he realised he had completely neglected to keep either her or his father up to date with what was happening. Part of it was premeditated: he hadn't wanted them to know that he was going alone to meet with the man who had tortured Jesse. That would have caused too much needless worrying and he hadn't wanted that on his already overburdened conscience.

Then he had raced straight to the interrogation of Reed and everything had subsequently happened with astonishing speed. A smile touched his lips as he threw his bombshell at her.

"Gavin Reed's in custody and he's confessed to everything. Jesse's off the hook."

"_What? How?"_ Her response was predictably shocked and confused.

"It's a long story, Amanda, but we got a tip-off and we got him." He didn't want to go into too many details over the phone – particularly not concerning his meeting with Liddell. "I'll tell you all about it later." He stopped outside the infirmary door. "But right now, I need to tell Jesse."

"_Give him our love, Steve. Give him both of our love."_

"How's my dad?"

"_Doctor Swanson is going to release him in the morning." _And, at last, the good news seemed to be coming thick and fast. _"Barring any complications, of course. Don't worry, I'll break the news to him gently."_

TBC…


	32. Trance 32

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.(In this chapter there are references/spoilers for the episodes 'X Marks the Murder' and 'Rescue Me'.)

**I don't really have any excuses as to why this chapter has taken so long to appear. Real Life got in the way, along with the holidays and my new job that's proving a lot more strenuous than I imagined. Plus, this is getting to be very hard work – a lot of effort for very little reward. Thanks to those of you who do take the time to review.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Two.

Steve said his goodbyes and pocketed his phone, glancing in through the open infirmary door. A uniformed officer sat just inside and Steve's nod of greeting to him also included a dismissal as he entered.

Once they were alone, the detective took a moment to study his young friend – but was dismayed to see that very little had changed in his demeanour. Tanis had said that she'd got through to him, had got him thinking more like a victim instead of a felon. And he had seen for himself the sterling work that Jesse had done with the police artist.

But it appeared that, with nothing to do but lie and think, all of that progress had come undone.

Finally, Steve approached the bed and he suddenly found that his stomach was tight with apprehension. He couldn't even hazard a guess as to how Jesse might react to what he was about to say – but he did fear that it wasn't going to prove to be some magical cure-all, no matter how hard he wished that it would.

Jesse was lying with his back to the door and Steve didn't bother even trying to get him to turn around. Ensuring that his footsteps were audible, he crossed to the other side of the bed and then positioned his chair right by the younger man's head.

To his mild surprise, Jesse's eyes were open – although they weren't focussed on him. But nor did they have that strange and disquieting distant stare. Instead they just looked dull and lacklustre, holding no sparkle, no emotion – and barely a glimmer of life.

"Hey, Jesse," Steve's voice was low and his apprehension cranked up another notch. He didn't know how he was supposed to give that life back to his friend. "I've got big news: we know everything…" And as before, he was doomed to disappointment by a complete lack of reaction. "We've got Reed and he's confessed. We'll get the others, too, buddy. I promise you that."

Jesse's unblinking, unchanging expression gave Steve no clue as to how his news was being received. He leant further forwards – trying unsuccessfully to force eye contact.

"We have all the proof we need now, Jess," he pressed on, determinedly. "You're not under arrest any more. All of the charges are dropped. You're…" _Free to go. _He couldn't say those words aloud, remembering Newman's warning and witnessing Jesse's continuing catatonia for himself. "You're innocent," were the words he said in their stead.

The laughter that followed those words was so soft that Steve almost didn't register it. But then it broke through his frantic planning of what else he might say to get through to Jesse and he looked down in shock.

Jesse's eyes had finally found their focus, but they had also flooded with tears.

"That's the one thing I'm not," he murmured, in a voice as close to silent as his bitter laughter had been. "The one thing I can never be."

"Jesse…"

"It's always going to be there. Always."

"Yes, you're right about that. You're damned right." Steve sat up straighter and his voice got gradually louder. "You're always going to remember that you tried to kill my father. You're always going to remember attacking him, hitting Amanda and fighting with me." He deliberately didn't look away when Jesse winced away from his words. Gentleness and kindness were having no discernable effect, so it was time to try a different tactic. "That will stay with you forever – and that's what makes everything about this so damned unfair."

Now Jesse was looking at him, but there was still only guilt and self-loathing evident on his features. Steve took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He'd had an idea and he was determined to follow through with it – even though he knew that he would most probably cause even further mental and emotional agony for his already suffering friend.

'_Cruel to be kind.' _The phrase flashed through his head, even as he began to talk and do exactly that.

"You wanna know why it's so unfair, Jess?" He asked, with a new intensity and focus. "It's because of what you _won't _remember. Reed told us everything. He told us exactly what they did to you to make you do what you did. And then he instructed you never to remember – and locked all of that cruelty and torture away deep inside of you."

A strangled sob escaped the young doctor. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to know the 'whys'. And deep down, he had to admit that he was terrified by what he was about to hear.

"The man who took you is called Richard Liddell," Steve pressed on, ignoring with difficulty, the anguish he was already causing. "And he kidnapped you for three nights in a row. _Three nights,_" he emphasised. "For those three nights, you were drugged and hypnotised – and it was a combination that completely took away your free will. They turned you into a puppet, a tool… A murder weapon."

Jesse shook his head. As both Steve and Amanda had before him, his initial reaction was that it was impossible. Steve read him easily, but didn't continue straight away. Instead, he took a moment to retrieve Jesse's medical file from the foot of the bed.

"Isotretinoin. Diazepam." Steve spoke the words flatly, knowing that he didn't need to explain the effects those drugs had on the human mind. "And scopolamine."

That was the one almost guaranteed to provoke a reaction – and it did. The doctor looked as though he was in actual physical pain and he moaned out a denial, even as his face paled dramatically.

"Three times they injected you with that, Jesse. Three times." It was hard to continue in the face of his friend's growing distress, but he forced the words out. "The man who drugged you was Hero Yoshimoto, a chemist who had worked for _years_ on that compound – years spent refining and perfecting it until it did exactly what he intended it to do: control you, take away your free will. And all the while, Reed was hypnotising you, planting instructions in your pliant mind. It was a blank page to him and he could have put anything he wanted in there – and you would have had no choice but to follow whatever order he gave you."

Tears were coming now, but Steve was relentless. Those tears didn't seem to be steeped in guilt.

"They controlled you completely, through a combination of the drugs and the hypnotism. For three nights you had no free will – and he proved that to you by leaving you with absolutely no memory of those nights." Steve distracted himself from the distressing sight of Jesse's grief by letting his eyes fall to the file. "And on top of all that there was Liddell. That man is nothing other than a sadist and…" He paused momentarily and then let his words escape in a rush – before he could lose his nerve: "He beat you – and he beat you badly. There was a worry that you might have sustained kidney damage. He used a TASER on you, repeatedly. He heated up a metal blade – more than one, from the looks of it – and used it to burn and cut you. He held you down and forced alcohol down your throat. And throughout all of that, he kept you restrained and helpless."

The tears had descended into sobs, but Steve bit back on his compassion and moved in for the kill.

"They broke you, Jesse and then Reed put you back together exactly how he wanted you to be. You had no choice but to attack my father, because you had no control over your actions – or your mind." He sighed and lowered his voice: "That's what I want you to remember, Jesse. Every time you remember the attack, remember what they did to you. They might have used _your_ hands – but it was _their_ minds and their control. You were not to blame."

"But why?" Jesse's voice was so wracked by tears that it was barely comprehensible. "Why couldn't I stop it?"

"Nobody could have, Jesse." Steve ensured that his fervent belief was evident in his voice. "I promise you, nobody could have stopped it."

And finally he could allow his sympathy to surface. As Jesse dissolved completely into helpless sobs, he dropped a strong and comforting hand onto his shoulder – and he left it there until the younger man had cried himself out.

* * *

Amanda looked at Mark and her disbelief was mirrored in his eyes. 

"It's over." she breathed. "It's really over."

"I'm not sure it's quite that easy." Mark's response was more introspective. "Jesse might be in the clear legally – but I don't see how any of this is going to take away his guilt. He did what he was accused of and… Well, you know Jesse."

"He's such a good man." Amanda answered on a sigh filled with tears. "It doesn't matter what the judicial system says. He'll never forgive himself."

When Mark merely nodded in response and, more importantly, offered no words of optimism, her emotion threatened to break free: "What can we do?" she almost pleaded.

"He has to know that we forgive him."

"But there's nothing to forgive!" The pathologist's outrage was evident in her voice. That had been the last thing she'd expected.

"Jesse is _never _going to accept that he did nothing wrong." Mark's response came out more forcefully than he'd intended and he was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, but we both know that. He's…" _Too much like me, _he thought, but never gave voice to it. Amanda knew it anyway. "He's lost to us at the moment. And, whatever the reasoning behind it, he has to live with the knowledge that he tried to kill me. There's only one person who can help him do that."

"Mark…" Amanda knew what was coming next and tried to voice a protest – even though she knew that it would be futile.

"You have to get me discharged, Amanda," he overrode her. "I _have _to speak to Jesse."

Amanda took a deep breath and then released it slowly. "Mark, it's late," she reasoned – though nine o'clock at night could hardly be considered unearthly. "You're being discharged tomorrow anyway…"

She never gave voice to the fact that Steve should be party to any attempt that his father might make of speaking to Jesse. He'd definitely have his own opinion as to how and when that might take place.

Mark shook his head and closed his eyes. He knew that Amanda was right – and even agreed with her to some extent. He _was _tired and he knew that the timing was all wrong. But he also knew that a friend needed him.

Being denied the opportunity to help that friend was something which was hard to accept. He was approximately twelve hours away from being discharged, he felt fine and he really needed to find his own sense of closure.

Then he looked at Amanda and saw the set of her jaw; the steely glint in her eye. With a heartfelt sigh he realised that no amount of pleading or cajoling was going to change her mind.

"Talk to Steve," he said, accepting an unspoken compromise. "Tell him that I _will _speak to Jesse tomorrow."

"Only if you promise to get some rest." Amanda felt a strong sense of deja-vu even as she said the words. It felt as though she'd been voicing the same argument forever.

"How am I supposed to rest?" Mark had somehow found himself wracked in guilt – however irrational that reaction might seem to anyone else. He was the only one who could offer Jesse absolution – and he was being denied that chance. He was being forced to leave Jesse to suffer. How could he not descend into guilt? "How am I supposed to pretend that this just isn't happening?"

Amanda's true reaction to those words was vividly portrayed in her eyes – and Mark read them easily enough. She understood, she even agreed, but she was looking at both sides of the equation.

Mark wasn't overly concerned about his own health any more. He knew his own body well enough to be convinced that he was well down the road to recovery. But Amanda didn't have those assurances – and nor would Steve – because they were a certainty only inside his own head.

She was scared for him – terrified, in fact – but that terror also extended to another hospital bed. Even if that bed was technically housed in what was termed an 'infirmary'.

Mark could honestly say that he had never, ever seen a person looking so torn.

Mark smiled softly at her. Here was some suffering that he could alleviate.

"Amanda, honey, this has been tough on all of us," he said. "Why don't you go home?" When he saw that she was about to protest, his smile became impish. "I'll get some rest; I won't make any phone calls. And I promise that I won't try and sneak out AMA."

Amanda chuckled quietly at that. It was exactly the sort of thing that Mark was capable of. But his promise was more than enough for her – and a shower and her own bed, without the weight of the world hanging over her, was beckoning invitingly.

He could see that he was winning and so had one left thing to say to push her completely over to his way of thinking: "In the morning, you can pick me up and we'll both go and see Jesse together."

She quirked a grin back at him: "Not until Ray Swanson gives you the all-clear to get out of here." Her eyes turned steely. "And no little white lies."

"Say hello to your boys from me." Mark knew that she'd check up on him anyway, so no further promises were necessary.

"They're at Camp," she responded, dryly.

"Well say hello anyway. We both know that you're going to call them."

Amanda laughed out loud at that one. It wasn't particularly funny, but it was a return to normality – and it did feel good to laugh again.

* * *

Jesse had covered his face with his hands and he left them there long after his sobbing had subsided. Steve knew that he was hiding again – but was no longer entirely sure what he was hiding from. 

Had the crying been a catharsis? Had Jesse finally come to accept his blamelessness? Steve wanted to believe that it was so, but he couldn't possibly know it until further words were exchanged.

His dread had receded as he'd watched his friend cry – seemingly in grief over the torture he had undergone; the manner in which he had been so used and abused – but now it returned full force.

He had a horrible feeling that it was shame that now caused his best friend to shy away from him. Shame at what his faltering, broken words had wondered: why had he allowed it to happen?

"Jesse," he said, softly. "Talk to me, buddy."

There was no verbal response. Jesse merely turned his still hidden face further into the pillow.

"I'm not going to leave you alone, so don't try and tell me to." To prove his point, Steve reached out and grasped gently at the bandaged wrists. He met no resistance as he pulled Jesse's hands away from his face. "Talk to me," he repeated, more forcefully.

"I… I'm tired…" The words were definitely evasive and Steve didn't buy them for a second.

"Jesse, you've slept almost solidly for the last two days!" He felt that now was a crunch time and was determined not to blow it. "I know that you're hurting – and not just physically – but I want to know what you're _feeling._"

"What I'm feeling…" Jesse shook his head, his eyes clouding over, even as he tucked his chin down into his chest – again seeking to hide. "Abused? Degraded? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I don't _want _to hear anything. There are no rules here. I'm not a shrink to say that there's a right or wrong answer." He shook his head, wondering exactly how far out of his depth he was right now. "I just want to know that you're going to get past this; that you're going to come back to us, buddy."

"Come back?" The words were still weak, but at least there was some conviction to them. "Why would you want me to come back?"

The answer was obvious to Steve, but he wasn't given the chance to verbalise it.

"Because I'm weak." Jesse's voice was harsh and his ever-present tears loomed again. "I'm weak and I'm worthless and…"

"Worthless?" Now Steve felt the need to interrupt, even though his intention had been to encourage Jesse to talk. "How in hell can you consider yourself to be worthless? You're a doctor. You save lives! What can be more worthwhile than that? And as for weak… Don't even get me started!"

"Then why, Steve?" Jesse surged upright, real emotion coming to the fore. "Why does it keep happening to me?"

"I don't know, buddy." They were eye-to-eye now and Steve tried to channel all of his conviction into his gaze. "Bad things happen – we both know that. They happen to other people and they happen to _us. _What matters is…"

"What matters is that I tried to kill your father!"

"And you _did_ kill Richard Lock!" The words might prove to be infinitely damaging, but they had escaped before Steve could stop them. He quickly sought a positive way out. "You came to terms with that, buddy. You understood that you weren't to blame."

"That was different! I just grabbed the sword and he ran onto it!" Anguish at the unpleasant memory was evident in his eyes. "I was manipulated and… and…"

"And you were turned into a murder weapon." It was the first time that Steve had really made the connection and he shuddered inwardly. "You accepted that; came to terms with it."

"Not for a long time." Jesse's answer was whisper soft.

"And it will be a long time before you get over this. But you will – you have to believe that." Steve caught hold of Jesse's chin and lifted his head, forcing him to make eye contact. "Tell me that you believe it."

Jesse lowered his eyes and then – when Steve's grip slackened – dropped his head. It didn't need any words to express the uncertainty that still surrounded both of them.

"When it… When it's normal again." His voice broke on the thought he didn't want to give credence to: that it might never be normal again. "When I won't be terrified of what I'll do the next time I see your dad." He swallowed heavily, suppressing yet more tears. "Maybe then…"

Steve licked his lips. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know, but he had to ask: "What do you think is gonna happen the next time you see my dad?"

"I didn't know what was going to happen the last time. How can you possibly trust me with an answer?"

"I trust _you, _Jesse." He meant the words, he truly did, but he didn't trust what lingering effects might still be in the other man's subconscious mind. Some of that doubt must have been evident in his face. Either that, or Jesse could see into his very soul – because that was where the doubts were most deeply seated.

"I… I'm sorry." Jesse easily read the unspoken words and his entire demeanour was crestfallen. "I'm sorry I can't promise you…"

"I'm not asking you to promise me anything." Steve was trying hard to seek a compromise – one that would safeguard his dad without further damaging his best friend's fragile self esteem. "Let's just take this one day at a time. It'll be okay."

"Is that a promise?" Sad laughter tried – and failed – to make light of the response.

Steve looked at him appraisingly, a million memories suddenly assaulting his senses.

They had been in tight spots too frequently to count. They had faced danger and even death – and had always walked away relatively unscathed. They had helped and supported and _loved _one another: Amanda, Jesse, his dad and he.

And Mark Sloan had really died on one previous occasion. His heart had stopped and it was Jesse whom he had found straddled over him, administering CPR, even as Steve had feared the very worst.

"It'll be okay," he said again – and, though he never said the word aloud – that _was_ a promise.

TBC…


	33. Trance 33

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.(In this chapter there are references/spoilers for the episode 'X Marks the Murder'.)

**Continued thanks for the reviews. You make it all worth while.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Three.

Jesse eventually drifted off to sleep and Steve was left feeling somewhat bereft. There was nothing left for him to do.

He felt that he had taken a major step in making his peace with everything that had happened – and he most definitely didn't bear any lingering animosity towards Jesse.

Gavin Reed was in custody; Richard Liddell was a wanted man, as was Hero Yoshimoto – though Steve still harboured doubts of either of them answering to their crimes; he had gone a long way towards casting his own doubt and guilt aside.

That only left his father.

His relief that he was still alive had only been accentuated by the forced memory of when Albert Blank had actually succeeded in killing him – technically. It all left his tired mind struggling to process exactly how he was feeling.

He wanted to remain angry with his dad over how he had so openly invited Reed to take another shot at him – but his relief at the episode being seemingly over totally overshadowed that.

He also realised – belatedly – that he had never seriously addressed that suicidal plan with his dad. And he also realised that he wasn't about to redress that matter tonight. Midnight had been and gone and, though he wasn't strictly bound by visiting hours, he knew that he wouldn't be calling by the hospital until the next day.

The only option left to him was to go home – and it felt strange to come to that conclusion without having someone bullying, coercing or downright threatening him to do so.

He drove home at a leisurely pace, wholly aware that his tiredness was beginning to weigh heavily on him – and the last thing he needed was to be in an accident. He made it back to the beach house and stumbled in through the front door. A flashing red light alerted him to at least one telephone message and, for the briefest moment he considered ignoring it.

The dramas were all over for the day – and he really didn't need any new ones, not when his bed was so tantalisingly close. But he was a cop and any single phone call could mean an emergency – and it still lingered at the back of his mind that his father was in the hospital and, thus, not totally out of the woods yet.

He pressed the playback button and then his heart literally skipped a beat when Amanda's voice floated out of the speaker.

"_Hey, Steve, it's Amanda," _the message began, somewhat redundantly. _"I've headed home for the night and your dad's promised to rest. I, uh…I need you to call me first thing in the morning…" _Steve frowned at the sudden hesitation that now punctuated the previously innocuous message. _"You know Mark's being discharged tomorrow and…Well, just call me, okay? Then we can go and see him together…" _

Another awkward pause followed before Amanda murmured a farewell and Steve was left scowling at the now silent device.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was on her mind; what was hidden in those strained little pauses. Mark was being discharged from hospital and he would want to see Jesse – it was a logical progression of events. But it was a chain of events that he wasn't prepared to examine at all closely right now – not if he wanted to get even a pretence of sleep.

It was going to prey on his mind – he wouldn't be human if that did not happen – but he vowed not to analyse it too closely. He needed to be sharp – and only a good night's sleep would help him to achieve that need.

He had foolishly been lulled into a false sense of security; had stupidly thought that everything was becoming plain sailing from now on – but again and again he was being reminded that Reed's legacy hadn't ended with the man's arrest. Tomorrow was promising to be as equally long a day as any of the past few had been.

* * *

If Steve dreamed at all that night, then the images disappeared with the sound of his alarm clock. The display read eight am, but he still felt more rested and refreshed than he had for what felt like an age. A hot shower only added to the feeling of being a real human being again.

Though it was nice to be back into his familiar morning routine, Steve hadn't forgotten about the phone message that had preceded him retiring for the night. He dialled Amanda's cell as he pottered about in the kitchen, making coffee and trying to find something in the fridge that would make an acceptable breakfast.

Their conversation was short – neither of them wanting to give voice to their mutual trepidation over what they knew was about to happen: Mark insisting on seeing Jesse – and it was decided that it was easier to just meet up at the hospital and face the situation together.

Steve gave it a lot of thought as he drove into the city. He was not going to allow his father to put himself in any position that might prove harmful to his health. He didn't care how old he was, what arguments he might use, or anything. It simply was not going to happen. And Steve did 'stubborn' as well as any other man on the planet.

He even started planning out his arguments – knowing for certain that he'd need them – and a whole set of ground rules that would have to be in place when the meeting between Jesse and Mark took place. He didn't try to convince himself that said meeting would never happen; he just wanted to ensure that it only happened when he as comfortable with every parameter and there was minimal danger of anything going wrong.

But the one thing that he _was_ going to insist on was that the two of them were never left alone. Arguments had raged inside his head and he hated to admit it to himself, but the risk was proving to be unacceptable – no matter how much he wanted to trust Jesse. Memories were still to fresh and raw and he had no choice but to reconcile to his decision. They weren't going to be left alone and he reluctantly concluded that he wasn't prepared to let that happen for the foreseeable future – at the very least.

Steve had arranged to meet Amanda in the doctors' lounge and she was already in there waiting for him. She even had a cup of coffee poured for him and he gave her a smile of gratitude.

"So, have you spoken to Ray Swanson again?" he asked, taking a sip of the brew and then trying to hide the grimace that it evoked.

Amanda, of course, noticed it but graciously let it pass without comment. A small smile was her only concession as she answered: "He's still planning on releasing your dad today, but I get the feeling that he's going to insist on a pretty stringent set of house rules when he does."

"Such as not being put under any undue stress?" Steve asked, raising one eyebrow.

Amanda closed her eyes briefly, having already anticipated where this conversation would lead. It had been as inevitable as the sunrise.

"I'm gonna need you on-side for this one, Amanda," he told her, with utmost sincerity.

"I am on-side," the young woman answered, without even the slightest hesitation. "But I've also spoken to Mark already. He's determined to do this."

"He's gonna walk straight back into another heart attack and I'm not prepared to let him do that!" Steve retorted, with a passion born of real fear. "I'll take him home for a couple of days. He needs to give it some time."

"I do agree with you, Steve." And she did. The very last thing she wanted was for Mark to suffer a relapse. "But your dad is going to be discharged very soon and the last thing he needs right now is an argument with you."

Now it was Steve's turn to reluctantly concur. And he knew that Ray Swanson would have plenty to say if they were to start yelling at one another before Mark had even left his hospital room.

"But what the hell is he thinking?" he demanded, exasperated by the thought that the only way to avoid such an argument was to capitulate. "Why can't he just make this easy?"

"He's worried about Jesse."

Steve bowed his head and closed his eyes, remembering the trauma of the previous night in the prison infirmary. He also knew his father incredibly well and, though he had asked the question aloud, he hadn't really needed Amanda to answer it for him.

"I'm worried about Jesse, too," he sighed, after a long moment. "But, Amanda… What if..?" He shook his head, not willing to give voice to the very real possibility that Jesse might not have recovered and would make another attempt on Mark's life. He opted for another fear – one that was just as real: "What if just the sight of Jesse brings it all back for my dad? His heart won't take that kind of a shock. I'm not gonna sit back and watch that happen. And I sure as hell ain't gonna set the damned thing up!"

"Steve…" Amanda's response was more than a little tired. Without the stress of the past few days, she wouldn't have slept well – she never did when her sons weren't home – recent events had made sleep nigh on impossible. "I just… I don't have the answer. I don't know what to do for the best. I don't know what's right… what we can do to make it alright again… I just don't know!"

"How about you stop treating me like I'm made out of glass and let me make my own decisions?" Mark said softly, as he entered the room behind them.

Steve and Amanda whirled around – their shocked expressions identical. And both expressions morphed into obvious disapproval when they noticed that Mark was still dressed in his gown, robe and slippers. He had clearly not yet been discharged. He held up one hand and stilled the protests that were bound to be forthcoming.

"Any doctor will tell you that a little gentle exercise is better for me than lying around in my hospital bed," he said, in way of explanation.

"And you just happened to wind up here?" Steve retorted, sounding decidedly sceptical.

"Well, you have to admit that the choice of destination isn't all that varied around here." When two equally suspicious looks were aimed at him, Mark attempted a disarming smile. "And how could I possibly have known that you'd be here?"

"Mark, you're being discharged in a couple of hours," Amanda put in, still sounding more than a little dubious. "Where else would we possibly be?"

At last, Mark had the good grace to look sheepish. He entered fully into the room and sank down into the nearest vacant chair. He knew when he was beaten and gave up on the charade of his presence being totally innocent. "I knew that this was going to happen," he admitted, quietly. "That you wouldn't want me to see Jesse."

"Dad…"

"Mark…"

This was exactly the situation – and the conversation – that both Steve and Amanda had been dreading. And hoping to avoid.

"I've heard your reasoning." Again, Mark forestalled a potential argument with his calm tone. "And I even agree to some extent, but I have to do it." He heaved a heavy sigh. "I can't not do it."

"But dad, you don't have to do it right now." Steve was adamant; his father's best interests always at the forefront of his mind. "Just give it a day or two and…"

"Steve, I honestly don't believe that we have a 'day or two'."

"Mark, what are you..?" His tone had been so grave that Amanda had feared the very worst. "Jesse wouldn't…"

"Jesse values life more highly than anything else. He would never do anything to jeopardise any life, not even his own." Though Mark's words might have sounded optimistic, his tone did not. "And that's why I know that we don't have any time to spare." He looked up at the two of them with bleak eyes. "You both know Jesse as well as I do. You've told him that the charges have been dropped? That he's no longer under arrest?"

"Of course!" Though there had been no accusation in the question, Steve's response was defensive. "It was the first thing I did, once we'd found out the truth."

Mark nodded resignedly. "So now that he knows he's free to leave, what do you think he'll do?"

* * *

The infirmary was dimly lit when Jesse awoke, but he really couldn't read too much into that. The lighting level had seemed to remain pretty much consistent – day or night – when he had been lucid enough to pay any attention to it.

His watch had been removed and there was no clock on the wall, so he couldn't even hazard a guess as to even what time of day it was – and he found that thought more than a little disturbing. From what he recalled of his conversation with Steve, he had been totally stripped of his free will – of his very persona and of everything that made him who he was – and, so far, he hadn't seen any way to claim any of that back. Something so simple as not knowing whether it was day or night only reinforced that fact.

Steve had also said that all charges against him had been dropped; that he was no longer under arrest. And yet he was still lying in an infirmary bed and so was still, technically, in prison.

Jesse sat up slowly – thankful, for the first time, that he was no longer held in restraints. Steve's words echoed constantly in his head: he was no longer under arrest. Didn't that mean he was free to go?

Though his mind still felt hazy and there were terrifying chunks of memory missing, his brain hadn't simply stopped functioning – and his thoughts, of their own volition, led him down a terrifying path. One that had been also followed by each of his dear friends:

Mark would insist on seeing him; Mark would want – no, need – to make everything alright. And that was something that Jesse couldn't allow to happen.

He hadn't lied to Steve when they had spoken previously: he honestly did not know how he would react the next time he was in the presence of Mark. There were numerous eventualities, including a number that he can't possibly have even considered. But there was only one possible outcome that mattered.

He moaned softly and closed his eyes as – for about the thousandth time – he relived what he had done in his prison cell. There was a chance – a strong chance – that he would react in exactly the same way. And Jesse knew that he would sooner die before he would let that come to pass.

Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he glanced around and wondered where his clothes were. He was functioning on something just above instinct and now he felt the need to flee. But he did still retain the presence of mind to know that he wouldn't get very far dressed only in a hospital gown – added blanket or not.

There was a nightstand by his bed, but that proved to be empty. Despair followed quickly on the heels of that discovery, as he realised that there were very limited places left for him to look. This wasn't a hospital and his clothes still being there wasn't a given. And without any clothes…

There was a soft clearing of a throat behind him and Jesse whirled, tightening the blanket around his shoulders.

"Going somewhere, Travis?"

Guilt flooded through Jesse as he saw Tanis leaning casually in the doorframe. Maybe his guilt was irrational – he was no longer under arrest, after all – but he had been planning on running away. And he knew that Tanis knew that. He didn't attempt to lie. He said nothing.

"There're some people on their way to see you." Tanis's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "People who care about you – and who you know you care about. You owe them to still be here when they come visit."

"I owe them to not be here," Jesse whispered in response.

"Stop it, Jesse. I thought we cleared all this up last night." Steve's calm voice broke into the conversation and Jesse silently cursed the half-light that had given no indication that he didn't have the time to flee.

"I… I can't do this…" Jesse's voice broke as he recalled Tanis referring to 'people' and he was terrified as to what might be about to transpire. "Please, Steve..."

"Remember what we said, Jesse." Steve's voice was an oasis of calm and never once betrayed his own inner turmoil. "One day at a time."

"Yeah, but… not today…"

"Jess, when people talk about 'sooner or later' then sooner is usually the best way to go." Steve had moved steadily closer and clapped a reassuring hand onto his friend's shoulder, ignoring the flinch that the other man couldn't quite repress. "Why not now, Jess? We're all here. Nothing's gonna happen."

"It's all about trust, Steve," Jesse answered, sadly. "You're never going to be able to really trust me again."

"Yes we are, Jesse."

The moment got frozen in time as Mark's voice sounded from the doorway. The atmosphere inside the room palpably increased and Jesse uttered a startled gasp before his gaze dropped to the floor. Steve, totally unconsciously, altered his stance – instantly becoming more alert and ready, until a stern look from his father forced him to relax.

"It might be hard for you to believe right now, my friend." Mark's heart broke when Jesse visibly flinched at the endearment. "But we do trust you. We always have."

"M… Ma…" Sudden panic rendered Jesse almost mute and his wild gaze sought an escape. It was all too much and he couldn't get past the terror that he might, again, succumb to whatever had been done to his mind. Totally unconsciously, he began to back away.

"Jesse, stop." Now Amanda came to the fore and looked at him beseechingly. "Just stop for one minute, honey."

Jesse looked at her, but all he could see was the memory of him striking out at her; the bruise that still marred her lip. He couldn't do this.

"Tell us what you're feeling, Jess," Amanda continued, approaching him slowly; like one would approach a cornered animal. "Let us help you."

"Please, just go." Gears were slowly turning in Jesse's head and the only option that was left to him was becoming gradually clearer. "Just go and…" He swallowed heavily and averted his eyes from the concern that all his friends' faces portrayed. "And let me go."

TBC…


	34. Trance 34

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**I can only apologise for the huge delay in posting this chapter. I've no real excuses – only Real Life, work and a nasty case of writer's block. Continued thanks for the reviews. You make it all worth while.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Four.

The silence that descended following those words was a clear indication that none of them had had any trouble in interpreting exactly what the young doctor was trying to say.

He could see no way out from his grief and devastation over what he had done. He couldn't see any way in which he could ever forgive himself – and, by the same token, he wasn't going to accept the forgiveness of others.

And he couldn't stay in their presence, not for any length of time and not when he continued to be terrified of how he might act or react to them.

His indecisive stance was a clear indication that he hadn't thought beyond his simple need to flee, but there was also a stubborn set to his jaw that spoke strongly about how determined he was to stand by his decision.

"Go?" It was Steve who broke the silence; hating everything that it contained. "And where exactly are you going to go?"

"I… I just…" Hesitation, again, came to the fore. "Can I go home?"

"Jess, I'm really not sure that would be a good idea right now." Steve had no choice but to deny him. "I don't think…"

"No…" Jesse looked at him with pleading eyes. "You said that I was free to go… You said…"

"I said that the charges had been dropped – that's all I said." Steve let out a sigh, remembering his Captain's doubts about Jesse's ability to adapt back into his life. He sought something positive to say – something encouraging and optimistic – but came up empty.

"Jesse, you need to come to terms with what happened." Mark's grave tone joined the stilted conversation. "You need to face up to it and deal with it."

Amanda had been watching Mark and was just about to protest about how blunt he had come across as being; but then her attention – along with everyone else's – was drawn back to the object of their concern.

Jesse had wrapped his arms around his midriff and had physically turned away from his mentor. His gaze was fixed very firmly on the floor – and he gave no indication that he'd heard a single word that Mark had said to him.

Alarm bells rang and Amanda took a step closer. When she was almost within touching distance, haunted blue eyes rose up to meet hers.

"Will you please find my clothes?" he asked on a whisper.

"Jesse, you can't keep hiding from this." Mark mirrored Amanda's movement, but his protégé's reaction couldn't have been more different. Jesse hugged himself even more tightly; his eyes were again averted and his entire body language screamed 'leave me alone'.

Mark looked away long enough to exchanged a worried glance with his son. The concern that was reflected back at him had its root in more than one problem, though. The spectre of two heart attacks clearly still weighed heavily on the younger Sloan's mind.

Steve was on the verge of calling the entire thing to a halt – and Mark was not ready to allow that to happen. He had to find a way to get through to Jesse. The only problem was that that was looking to be an impossible task when his young friend wouldn't even acknowledge his presence.

"Jesse, I think you should be hypnotised again."

The words were designed to shock and they had the desired effect. Jesse's head snapped around as though he had been slapped and what little colour he had drained from his face.

Mark also heard the muffled gasp that Amanda couldn't quite stifle and Steve's reaction was equally outraged. But he tuned the two of them out and focussed only on his former protégé. Jesse looked utterly devastated and it pained Mark that he was the cause of the fear and betrayal that now warred for dominance on his expressive features.

"We need to know." Mark spoke with renewed passion and intensity. "We need to know that it's over; that Gavin Reed hasn't left anything else inside your head; that you are no longer under any kind of influence." _That we can be alone together without either of us being afraid._ Finally eye contact was made and maintained – as the unspoken words were somehow heard. "We need to know that it's over."

He expected a protest, a denial. At the very least, he expected some sort of a verbal reaction. But Jesse only stared at him.

"It will be a controlled situation, Jess." Fear crept into Mark's gut, that he had finally pushed his friend over the edge. He desperately sought a way out. "We'll find someone you can trust; can feel comfortable with. I give you my word…"

"Just please…" Finally Jesse found his voice and, though it was weak and insubstantial, it halted the flow of Mark's words. "Please, just make it stop."

* * *

The confrontation seemed to drain Jesse of what little energy he'd had and Amanda had no trouble in convincing him to lie down. His body language was one of resigned defeat and it seemed as though his instinct to flee had been thoroughly quashed.

As his eyes drifted closed – though none of them, for one moment, believed that he would actually sleep – the three of them wandered back out into the hall. And all of them were surprised to find Tanis waiting there for them. Collectively, they had completely forgotten about the role that she was playing in their drama.

"I don't think you need to worry," she said, indicating Jesse with a jerk of her chin. "But I'll keep an eye on him, anyway."

And it was Steve who prevented the group from walking out of her earshot as they began to discuss Mark's bombshell. There was nothing that they could say that he wasn't prepared to let his partner hear. She had done as much as anyone to help Jesse.

"Hypnosis, dad? Are you sure that's the answer?"

"I'm not sure of anything any more." The confession was accompanied by a weary sigh. "But I don't know what else we can do. We're not losing him, Steve. He's already lost."

"But Mark, he did turn to you," Amanda pointed out, desperately seeking something positive to say. "He asked _you_ to help him; to make it stop. Surely that has to be progress."

"At this moment in time, I don't think that Jesse would deny me anything," Mark replied, his eyes again seeking out the still form. "He tried ignoring me – but it was never going to take him very long to figure out that I wasn't going to leave him alone. Now he's desperately looking for atonement. There's no doubt in my mind that he would do anything that I told him to right now."

"Then why don't you just tell him to snap out of it and stop beating himself up over something that was so totally out of his control?" Steve's tone bordered on testy, but he was wholly uncomfortable with his father's plan.

"I could do that," Mark answered, sagely. "And I'm sure that he'd do his very best to put on a convincing show for my benefit. But it wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't rebuild the trust." He looked Steve straight in the eyes. "It wouldn't allow me to walk back through that door – alone – without any of us being afraid."

"But how will making him relive his nightmare achieve any of that?"

"It's not about making him relive it. It's about demolishing the walls that Reed has built in Jesse's head."

"Your dad's right, Steve." Tanis spoke up for the first time and her own eyes were dark and brooding. "You need to know if that bastard has left any more surprises in there and Travis is the only person who can tell you that. He can't give you the information voluntarily, so you have to take it by whatever means you can."

Steve sagged against the wall, knowing that the arguments made sense. But that didn't make it any easier for him. "You make it sound so…"

"Dirty? Unpleasant? Invasive?" his partner spat back. "Of course it is! And you might feel uncomfortable with the idea – but it's going to be hell for that kid in there."

Tanis suddenly found herself the focus of intense scrutiny from three pairs of eyes and she realised just how passionate her outburst had sounded. But this case had got to her and she couldn't disguise it. The fact that control could be taken so completely was an utterly terrifying prospect for her. "I was with Travis when he remembered the guy who had taken him," she explained. "He was terrified. It was so real to him – hell, he even had me believing that he was in the room with us. You start digging deeper…"

"Then we're not doing it here." Amanda spoke up with steely resolve, but there was a definite underlying tremor to her voice – apparent only to those who knew her. "He has to be somewhere he can feel safe."

"I'm not sure that there is such a place any more," Steve muttered, darkly.

"We'll do it at the hospital." Mark answered in a no-nonsense tone. "I won't have him admitted, just set up in a private room. That way, he has complete freedom. He can leave at any time he wants and he won't have to worry about going AMA. We need to give him some control back."

"And if he runs?" Tanis spoke the words that she was not alone in thinking.

"He won't run." Mark spoke with utter conviction. "He might argue and he might protest but, deep down, he knows that this is the only way. He's going to be scared – but he will do it."

Silence descended for a brief moment and all eyes returned to the open infirmary door. Then Amanda spoke softly: "Now we just need to find the hypnotist."

* * *

Four hours later, Mark was at an absolute loss. He had spent the entire time talking to hypnotherapists, psychologists and doctors. He'd called in as many favours as he was able. He had cajoled, pleaded and begged, but he had yet to find anybody capable of unlocking the horrors trapped in Jesse's mind.

It couldn't be done, he was repeatedly told. A hypnotist's methods, controls and techniques were unique. And if mental blocks had been put in place, then it would take the very best in their field to remove them.

Gavin Reed had once been regarded as the best of the very best. Just because his morals had gone astray didn't mean that his abilities had diminished at all. Mark couldn't find a single expert who could undo the damage that had been done.

He sat in the doctors' lounge at Community General and put his head in his hands. He knew that, elsewhere in the vast building, Amanda was supervising Jesse's unofficial admittance into the hospital.

The young man hadn't offered a word of protest. Instead, he seemed to have retreated back towards the catatonia that had once held him in its merciless grip. If things didn't change soon, then his stay at the hospital might become both official and necessary.

And Mark had nothing to give him – not a word of optimism; not even a hint of hope. He was failing in his self-imposed task of taking Jesse's nightmare away. There was only one option left open to him – and it was an option that left him feeling sick to his stomach. He could only imagine how the members of his close-knit, extended family would react.

With great reluctance, he conceded that he had nothing left to try. Fate was forcing him down a path that he really did not want to follow. Closing his eyes, he reached for his phone – already silently seeking forgiveness for the suffering that he was very possibly about to unleash.

* * *

"What?!"

Steve's was the first predictably outraged response that Mark received. He'd tried to break the news as gently and tactfully as possible – but, at the end of the day, his plan to help Jesse was brutal and bordered on downright cruel.

"If there's another way, Steve, then I'd love to hear it." Mark's response was not at all snide – just full of hopelessness and with a hint of pleading. He was desperate to find a solution other than the one he had come up with; but he was truly utterly out of ideas.

"Anything would be better than this." Even as Steve spoke, he instantly regretted the words, because his father's demeanour became even more despairing – something that he would not have believed to be possible. "I'm sorry, but… How were you planning on telling Jesse?"

When Mark's gaze faltered and a look of undeniable guilt ghosted across his features, Steve knew the answer to his own question: "You're not going to tell him," he said, flatly – his dubiousness clear in his voice.

"It won't achieve anything other than cause him even more trauma than he's currently undergoing," Mark answered. "And I can't do that to him."

Silently, Steve had to agree, but his mind was still reeling from the bombshell that his father had just thrown at him: Jesse's situation was looking increasingly hopeless; there was not one single professional who could undo the damage that Reed had done; there was not even anyone who was prepared to try.

Mark had only been able to see one other option and it was to this option that Steve was so vehemently opposed. Gavin Reed was the only person capable of helping them – and Mark had already taken steps towards securing that help.

"So how do you plan to play this, dad?" Steve's scepticism was apparent in his voice. "How is Reed going to help without Jesse knowing anything about it?"

"I've asked Martin Samson to hypnotise Jesse again – but, before that happens, Martin will meet with Reed." Mark spoke quickly and never gave his son the chance to interrupt. "And Reed will tell him all of his techniques and methods and blocks. _Everything. _Then Martin will be able to give Jesse the help that he needs."

"Dad, do you have any idea how many things could go wrong with that plan?" Steve didn't bother to catalogue the potential pitfalls – they were all blatantly obvious to him – but he did continue with his protests: "And you are not going to go anywhere near that man."

"It's not my intention to antagonise him," Mark replied, softly. "In fact, I don't even want him to know of my involvement in this. If he thinks that I'm behind this, then he might refuse to help – no matter what the consequences. He'd only look at the chance to get at me."

"But what makes you even think that Reed _is_ going to cooperate?"

"Because I'm trading him his life."

"Dad…"

"Steve, I have a lot of friends in some fairly high-up places; right up to the DA's office." Mark spoke quietly, but intently. "Gavin Reed will be offered life imprisonment, without the chance of parole, in return for his full cooperation in this. I've already made the call."

"But I really want to see the son-of-a-bitch fry for what he's done to us." Steve spat back with feeling.

"I know." Though it was difficult for Mark to share the exact same sentiment – he was a doctor and life was the most precious commodity on the Earth – he could empathise: "And maybe that would be the only way he would get true justice. But I promise you, Steve, Gavin Reed will die in prison. He could die now, quickly and cleanly, or he could die years from now – slowly, from old age or illness – but he will die. That will be his justice." He reached out and clasped hold of his son's hand. "And now we can try and make sure that Jesse gets justice of his own."

Steve didn't want to agree, didn't want to admit that there was any validity to his father's plan, but the reasoning was making sense – and it was looking to be their only positive way out.

If you could consider recruiting the help of a convicted killer and sparing his life in the process as positive.

But Mark had clearly thought things through with typical thoroughness. He had even secured the help of both Newman and Tanis to ensure that everything went as smoothly as possible.

It was all going to happen with minimum fuss and Reed was going to be given only the sparsest information. The name Sloan was not going to be mentioned and it would be made abundantly clear that the deal down from the death penalty depended solely on the plan being a success.

Steve's Captain and partner would oversee the meeting; three hypnotherapy experts would also be present, to ensure that all was kept open and above board and that Reed wouldn't know exactly who he was dealing with. The interview was being recorded both audibly and visually – and said recordings would be scrutinised by independent experts to ensure that Reed did nothing, either overtly or subliminally to cause more harm than he might cure. Armed guards would also be on hand.

Mark, it seemed, had taken steps to cover most of the potential problems that Steve had foreseen.

"So," Steve eventually, reluctantly conceded. "It looks like you've covered all of the bases."

"I don't think it's possible to cover _all _of the bases," Mark replied, grimly. "But I don't know what else we can do – and, unfortunately, time isn't on our side."

TBC…


	35. Trance 35

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Continued thanks for the reviews. You make it all worth while.**

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Five.

Amanda hadn't been kept out of the loop. Tanis had called by and taken her discreetly to one side; bringing her up to speed with the plan – even as she was on her way to the jail to play her part in that plan.

The pathologist had been surprisingly compliant. She had voiced none of the protests or arguments that Steve had come up with – even though she shared a great deal of them.

At the end of the day, she agreed with Mark – and she agreed wholeheartedly. Time was the one commodity that they did not have.

Jesse had acquiesced to 'moving in' to the hospital. He'd settled into a room with barely a word – save for his unfailing politeness in thanking those who continued to help him – but he was still a long way removed from being the Jesse Travis who was so known and loved within Community General.

Amanda was vaguely worried about gossip-mongers; about what rumours might surround the young doctor's unofficial stay within the hospital. She even worried briefly about what might happen if the Board of Directors got wind of how they were misusing one of the very expensive private rooms.

But then she realised that she was kidding herself. Those were totally trivial worries and were worth nothing more than a brief distraction. If Mark's plan didn't work, then the gossips and even the Directors could say whatever the hell they wanted.

Jesse's career – if not his very life – would be over if they couldn't find a way to bring him out of the other side of this.

And so she clasped Tanis's hand and wished her good luck – and then she turned her attention back into the hospital room. It was different to the infirmary – private and much more nicely decorated. With only one bed, muted lighting, a tasteful framed print and a television, it was the best that the hospital had to offer.

The only thing that wasn't different was the demeanour of the patient it housed. If Jesse was afraid that Mark had suggested he undergo hypnotism again then he gave no indication. Every plan, every word of hope or encouragement was met with the exact same indifference.

Jesse wasn't doing anything for himself – he was merely doing what he was told was best for him. And that hurt Amanda's heart.

Jesse Travis was a stubborn, reckless and fiercely independent individual. He was a risk taker, when he needed to be, and he was never the type of man to take the easy option simply because it was easier. She remembered a stolen hotel key-card, an answer phone message that constituted an illegal search and sneaking out of the hospital after a gunman had taken his mentor hostage.

That was the Jesse that she knew, the Jesse that she wanted back and the Jesse that she was slowly giving up hope of ever seeing again.

* * *

It took two days to get everything into place. Two days during which Mark chafed and fretted and feared that his plan would yet fail; two days during which Steve had nothing but time to worry over what he might have missed, or of the million other ways that things might go wrong; two days during which Amanda sat in silence and watched Jesse gradually slip ever further away from them.

For saying that the nightmare allegedly ended with Gavin Reed's arrest, sleep still didn't come any easier for any of them.

They all took turns at going home, all pretended that they held genuine hope that everything would turn out alright, but they were still all present at the hospital when Captain Newman strolled in. His mere presence had heads turning and tongues wagging and so the three friends all converged on the doctors' lounge independently of one another.

Steve had been in the canteen – meals had been skipped too frequently and his hunger had got to a stage where it couldn't be ignored; Amanda had been in her lab – catching up on work that continued to be woefully neglected, in spite of the best efforts of her staff.

And Mark had been outside Jesse's room, looking in on him, but unprepared to actually go in. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't afraid, but as a lie it was almost laughable.

He was deathly afraid and it wasn't a feeling that he liked. He'd feared _for _Jesse before: feared for his health, feared for his sanity, feared for his very life before. But he had never, ever been afraid _of _Jesse.

Though in the past – and on more than one occasion – Mark had gone behind Steve's back and done something that he would definitely not approve of, now was not such an occasion. There was nothing, no amount of money – not anything – that could make him walk into that room alone. Possibly the only thing that would have forced him through the door was a gun being held to his son's head.

So he stood in the corridor, keeping to the shadows and looking in through the half-closed blinds. There was no danger of Jesse seeing him – even if he did, by some small miracle, turn his head away from the wall. The only time he'd moved in those two days had been to pick at his meals when they were placed in front of him. Mark was under no illusions: his young friend was only eating enough to stay alive and he was only doing that because, no matter what, he would know that suicide – by any method – was not an option open to him.

Then Mark's pager had displayed two simple words: _'Newman's here' _and he had converged on the doctors' lounge, arriving at almost exactly the same moment as Amanda. Steve and his Captain were waiting for them.

"Gavin Reed has given us his full cooperation. He's told Doctor Samson everything he needs to know." Newman looked at each of them in turn – his gaze dark and brooding. "And I sure as hell hope that this works, because you've just saved the life of a man who truly and honestly deserved to die."

Then the Captain left – and the three friends were left somewhat reeling by his passion. Of all of them, Steve was probably the closest to understanding where that speech had come from. Newman was a man who fiercely believed in justice; who devoted his entire life to it. And, no matter what the details or the reasons, Gavin Reed had escaped real justice.

Newman had no vested interest in Jesse's mental health or wellbeing – and so that wouldn't take the sting out of what had happened, the way it did with Steve.

"Okay, so what now?" Steve asked, gruffly – feeling as though the Captain's words had been a personal accusation against him alone.

"Now we… I guess we talk to Martin." Mark sounded oddly reticent and, in truth, he was feeling somewhat less than enthusiastic. They were about to open up Pandora's Box – and he, for one, wasn't all that eager to discover the contents.

* * *

"Jesse, honey…" Amanda had volunteered to talk to Jesse and she did it immediately, no matter how unpleasant she found the task. "Whenever you feel up to it, we're ready."

She didn't have to spell it out any further – there had only been one topic of conversation between them recently. Even small talk had ceased to happen as the hours dragged by. But now he was being forced to confront things, he was also forced to talk.

He let out a deep, shuddering sigh and finally turned to look at her. "I'm scared," he admitted, in a small voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm scared too." No longer even giving thought to potential rejection, Amanda grabbed hold of his hand. "But you're going to be perfectly safe. I promise you. It will be controlled; we'll all be here…"

"No, Amanda. I'm scared of… I'm scared of _knowing._" He didn't pull his hand free, but did turn his face away. "How did he make me do it? What if..?"

"Jesse, don't." Amanda interrupted – not wanting him to speak his fears aloud; not when all of them had, if privately, given thought to them even if they wouldn't admit it. "There is nothing inside of you that contributed to this in any way. There is not one bad bone in your body, not one bad _cell. _There was nothing subliminal that was triggered; nothing subconscious."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you, Jesse." She almost felt as though she was breaking through to him. He was actually listening to her. "And I hope that by breaking down these walls, you'll be able to understand exactly how much none of this was your fault. And Mark believes that it will work." She mentally crossed her fingers when she said those words – but Jesse needed the reassurance.

"Then I guess… I guess the sooner the better, right?" Jesse didn't even realise that he was echoing Steve's words, but so much was being expected of him – and he felt it was time for him to stop his friends from feeling disappointed in him.

"I can page everyone…"

"No!" Jesse immediately realised that he'd yelled and was instantly contrite. "I mean… " He looked down at himself; at the hospital gown he wore. "Can we do it away from here?"

"The beach house?" Amanda suggested – and then instantly regretted it as Jesse's eyes wrinkled in distress. "How about my place?"

"I… I was thinking… I was thinking someplace not so… personal." Jesse kept his eyes downcast, feeling as he had no right to demand where their experiment took place. "Someplace where… if it goes wrong…"

"It's _not _going to go wrong, Jess," Amanda retorted, with passion. "But where would you feel comfortable? Where would you feel safe? Where do _you_ want this to happen?"

"I can only really think of one place…"

_At the precinct._ Amanda answered the question easily: somewhere he could be monitored; where he could be stopped if it proved necessary. Unfortunately, she couldn't argue against that choice.

* * *

Jesse was thinner, Steve noticed with a disturbed frown. Though sometimes it seemed like forever since this whole nightmare had begun, it certainly didn't feel as though it had been long enough for him to actually see the weight loss his best friend had suffered.

Then Jesse cinched a belt around his waist to secure jeans which had once fit him perfectly and Steve turned away – feeling as though he was intruding on yet another example of the suffering that he had been unable to prevent.

He was pulled up short by the sight of a familiar man leaning against the corridor wall. His stomach tightened in apprehension and his hackles rose. Guy Olsen of the FBI was a parameter that he most definitely hadn't accounted for.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped, without taking the time for even a hint of courtesy. "No-one invited the feds to this party."

"That's how you talk to the man who's just about to make your day?" Olsen replied, with a hint of a smirk.

"What..?"

"Your snitch? The kid's abductor?" The Agent jerked his head towards Jesse's hospital room. "We're taking him down."

Before Steve could react to that, Tanis stepped into view and Steve could see from the look in her eyes that she was already clued in on what was going on – she just hadn't wanted to spoil the moment.

"I'll take Travis down to the precinct," she said – relieving Steve of his self-imposed task.

But Steve just shook his head in confusion: "What about 'we rely on the public having faith in our integrity'? What about 'paying rewards to keep citizens vigilant and helpful'?"

"It seems like the higher-ups are keener than you might think to hold onto their half-mill." Olsen lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Technically, he will get paid; we will keep our end of the bargain. But how can he get access to it – much less spend it – when he's in jail?"

Steve looked from Olsen to Tanis – and to the closed door of Jesse's hospital room. Consistent with his thoroughly bad luck, the timing of this was all off. He wanted Liddell; he wanted him so badly that it almost hurt. But he also wanted to be there for his best friend.

He shook his head. Jesse was less than an hour away from learning everything; of finding out exactly what had been done to him. And, though they thought they knew the worst of it: the torture, the burning and cutting, he also knew that there could be so much more buried away. More things that Steve had been unable to save him from. Did he really need all of that weighing on his overburdened conscience? Surely he would be better served bringing Liddell to justice and thus closing another chapter of this horror story.

"How's it going down?" he asked, having won the brief internal argument with himself.

"Liddell isn't stupid. He asked for the money to be transferred into an overseas account."

Steve nodded, not at all surprised by that revelation.

"And the bank is going to want to see some sort of proof of ID," Olsen continued, a touch smugly. "That's where we'll be waiting."

"But you said yourself that he isn't stupid," Steve felt obliged to remind him. "Won't being called in to the bank make him suspicious?"

"It's SOP when you're dealing with such vast amounts. He has no reason to be suspicious. And besides, that much money can make even the most prudent of men throw caution to the wind." Olsen smiled grimly. "He's already made the appointment. My men are already in position and I thought you might wanna be there for the bust."

* * *

Tanis looked at the pale, strained face of the man sitting in the car next to her and silently wondered if they were actually doing the right thing. Travis looked utterly scared to death – and she really couldn't blame him for that. Maybe, sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.

"How are you holding up?" she asked softly – and then wasn't surprised when she didn't receive an answer.

The young man obviously wasn't holding up at all. In fact, he looked on the verge of flight – to such an extent that Tanis kept a very close eye on him each time she pulled up to a stop light. She was that concerned that he would bolt.

But they made it to the precinct without incident – and without any further attempt at conversation on her part. They entered the building with the minimum of fuss and it wasn't until they approached Interview Room One that he baulked.

Tanis stopped and turned to look back at him.

"I… I can't…" Hazy, confused memories were suddenly bombarding him. He had sat handcuffed in that room whilst Steve had thrown horrible, damning and _true _accusations at him. He didn't think he could possibly walk through that door.

"Now's not the time to be getting cold feet, Travis." Tanis understandably misinterpreted his reluctance. "The people in there are only trying to help you. That's what we're all trying to do."

Jesse swallowed heavily and forced himself to nod. It was an even greater effort to get his feet to start moving again. He knew what he was walking into and it truly scared him to his very core. That they would be doing it in this very room felt horribly like a bad omen to him.

But, as Tanis had said, everyone was doing this for his benefit. He supposed that he was just looking for excuses – at the end of the day a room was just a room, no matter what might have happened in there in the past.

The truth was that he was afraid and he was deliberately trying to find obstacles. Anything to delay – or even avoid – being hypnotised again; of having his free will taken from him; of having someone else inside his head and being powerless against anything they might do. He felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead.

"Hey." Tanis looked at him with open concern. "Don't over-think this. Just go in there and do what you've got to do – quick and clean, like tearing off a band-aid."

"Do… do you think it's going to work?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I know that Mark _believes _it's going to work." She offered him a reassuring smile. "And I don't think I've ever known him to be wrong."

* * *

It would have warmed Mark's heart had he been able to hear the words that Tanis spoke with utmost sincerity because, now that the time had come, he was plagued by a million doubts.

He and Amanda weren't going to be present for the hypnosis – that would be too traumatic for everybody concerned – but they were going to be viewing it from the adjacent anteroom. It had seemed the obvious choice when they were putting their plan into action, but now he almost wished that he had distanced himself from it completely.

Maybe it was selfish, but he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to witness this. Not only were they going to get into Jesse's head and learn exactly what had happened to him, but Mark had a horrible suspicion that they were about to learn more about Gavin Reed than they ever wanted to know.

Martin Samson was already in the Interview Room, as was Captain Newman. Mark had initially frowned at the additional presence of two uniformed officers, but then conceded that prudence was probably wise. Nobody could even begin to guess at what they might be about to witness.

And so Mark's thoughts again came full circle and he tried hard not to wish that he was any place other than that small anteroom.

Then a slender hand covered his and he looked up into Amanda's warm brown eyes. She was never able to hide her emotions very well and Mark could see his own concerns mirrored in those eyes.

"It's the right thing to do," she said – though she sounded far from convinced. "The only thing."

Mark tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Whatever happens…" he began to say – but the rest of the sentence was lost as the Interview Room door opened and Tanis ushered a clearly terrified Jesse through it.

He felt Amanda's fingers curl more tightly around his, but he couldn't even spare a look at her. Introductions inside the room had been brief and now Jesse was sitting opposite Martin Samson. The hypnotist held a coin and was dancing it smoothly across his fingers. His calm voice filtered through the microphones to where Mark and Amanda listened in:

"I want you to relax, Doctor Travis. Let your eyes focus on the coin and your ears on my voice. That's all there is. Watch the coin and hear my voice. You are feeling relaxed…"

TBC…


	36. Trance 36

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**So, finally I have another chapter and I'm also going to include another apology. When I started writing and posting this story, my circumstances were a whole lot different to what they are now. I never envisaged that I would change jobs, but now I'm working longer hours and also facing a commute every day. It leaves me with much less time to myself. So I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to get the chapters up, but please rest assured that this story will be completed eventually. Thanks for your patience and continued thanks for the reviews. **

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Six.

Waiting was a bitch. Steve had always hated it and he always would – even though he fully understood how essential a part of his job that waiting was.

To catch Liddell, for it all to go down smoothly and without hitch, the feds had to be in position early. And early meant a full four hours before the henchman's appointment was scheduled. They knew how thorough and professional Liddell was and nothing was being left to chance.

Thankfully, Steve had been spared the majority of that waiting.

The van housing him and Olsen pulled up outside LA's Monument Bank and as the driver exited, behaving as though he had every legitimate reason to be there, they remained in its rear.

There was only approximately one hour to wait before Liddell was due.

So Steve sat in the back of the unmarked van, staring intently at monitors showing the interior of the bank. But, no matter how hard he stared, he couldn't help but see Jesse's strained and terrified face – and wonder what the hell was going on down at the precinct.

"When Liddell shows, I want you to stay put." Olsen said, rudely interrupting Steve's brooding. "This isn't the time for heroics, or any kind of vigilante shit."

"What?" Steve had already begun to question just what he was doing there, when the alternative was to be supporting his friend. Olsen's words only added fuel to his internal debate.

"I mean it, Sloan. I'm out on a limb just letting you get this close."

"So why am I even here?" Steve exploded to his feet, finally accepting what, deep down, he'd known all along: the bust wasn't important. Jesse was. He lunged for the door handle, but a surprisingly strong hand on his arm stopped him before he could open it.

"You can't go out there. Liddell might arrive at any moment," Olsen said. "If he makes you…" The rest didn't need to be said.

"Then you tell me what I'm really doing here," he retorted, his tone making it clear that he didn't like being taken for a fool. "Because you didn't risk blowing the entire operation by having me brought here so late on in the show and you sure didn't invite me to just sit here and cool my heels – not when you know what I've got invested in this."

Olsen closed his eyes. When he opened them, he briefly raised them to the heavens.

"Answer me, dammit!" Steve easily broke the grip on his arm and started to open the door. The odds of his exit coinciding with Liddell's arrival were slim enough for him to take the chance. Olsen obviously didn't feel the same way.

"Alright, you win." The agent looked away, clearly embarrassed. "We've only ever seen the sketches of Liddell and, no matter how good they are, we need you to make a positive ID."

Steve smiled at him, but it was a smile completely devoid of humour. "Tell me I'm in on the bust," he said. "Or put your faith in a caricature. Your choice."

It wasn't fair on Jesse, he knew that. His work with the police artist had been incredible – but no drawing was ever going to be as foolproof as an ID from an eye witness. Particularly if that witness was involved in law enforcement. Steve had Olsen over a barrel and both men were fully aware of that fact.

"I hate this." Olsen shook his head. "I didn't invite you in because I don't know what the hell you're going to do. You want to kill this guy."

"No. No I don't. I just want to see him pay." Steve forced out the lie. He _did_ want to kill Richard Liddell; he wanted to choke the life out of him with his bare hands for what he'd done. But he'd settle for justice, because that was the best he was being offered.

"Okay," Olsen was still shaking his head, even though his words weren't negative. "You're in, but follow my lead." As Steve smiled in satisfaction, Olsen grabbed his wrist again. "I mean it. We go by the book."

* * *

Back at the precinct, the scene was almost surreal. To an outsider, it might have seemed as though time was standing still and the only person unaffected by that phenomena was the hypnotist, Martin Samson.

As his soothing voice lured Jesse into his thrall, every eye was on him. No-one moved, no-one blinked, no-one hardly even seemed to breathe. And it wasn't just inside the Interview Room that the effect existed.

Outside in the anteroom, looking in, Mark and Amanda clutched hands and focussed their every energy on what was happening. Independently, and unbeknownst to one another, they were both also silently praying.

The process was a slow and gradual one – designed to put Jesse at ease. It was a standard hypnotic technique. The crunch would come once Jesse was well and truly under – and that time arrived with frightening alacrity:

"Go back to the night of the fourteenth." Samson said, his tone suddenly strong and commanding.

"The fourteenth..?" Jesse whispered, his eyes open but unfocussed.

In the anteroom, Mark stiffened. Jesse had sounded so utterly terrified, he belatedly asked himself if he truly was doing the right thing. But it was far, far too late for that question.

"Tuesday night, Doctor Travis." Samson exhibited no sympathy. If anything, his voice hardened. "Tuesday night after you left the hospital and before you arrived home. I'm going to allow you to remember that."

Mark felt Amanda whip her head around to look at him, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the window. The last words that Samson had said had definitely belonged to Reed.

"I got out of my car." Jesse's voice was small and lost and he clearly already feared the memories that were about to unfold. "He was waiting for me."

"Who was waiting for you? Was _I _waiting for you?"

Mark flinched as Samson said those words. If Reed had suggested this technique then they were playing a very dangerous game. It couldn't cause anything but harm for Jesse to believe, even subconsciously, that Reed had hypnotised him again.

"A man… I don't know him." Jesse's agitation grew as the memories were forced back into his head. "He knocked me down and tied my hands and…" Tears formed in his eyes. "The trunk of the car… I thought I was going to die…"

"But you didn't die," Samson reminded him needlessly, in a voice that was no longer even close to soothing or reassuring. "Did you?"

Amanda's grip on Mark's hand turned vice like and he couldn't help but turn to look at her. The distress in her eyes was as strong as the shock in his own.

"Mark, it isn't right," she almost sobbed. "We have to stop this."

"We can't." He forced the words past a sudden dryness in his throat. Deep down he agreed with her, but he had been forced to put his faith in Gavin Reed and now that faith was being tested to the full. "There's nothing left, Amanda. There's nothing else that we can try."

"But Mark…"

"I have faith in Martin," Mark insisted – and that was true. It was Gavin Reed who he didn't trust. "Reed's techniques won't have had anything to do with gentle persuasion. He used drugs and torture and terror tactics. Maybe that's all that will reach Jesse now."

* * *

During his one brief encounter with Richard Liddell, Steve had formed a very strong impression of the man. It wasn't just the hatred that he felt for him – and that hatred was deeply passionate – it was also on an instinctive level; the kind of instinct that every good cop had.

He had seen into the personality of the man and the small clues that he had been offered had gelled into an understanding of how Liddell worked.

He knew that the thug wouldn't be late – but nor would he arrive exactly on time. Steve had the unshakable feeling that the man would arrive with enough time to spare to take into account the possibility of having to queue. There was no way that he would risk missing his appointment.

So, when eight minutes to the allotted hour arrived, Steve instantly became more alert and focussed. The fact did not go unnoticed by his FBI counterpart.

"Do you see him?" Olsen asked, leaning in closer to the monitors.

"Not yet, but…" His eyes narrowed as he watched a man appear in the frame. "Right on time." He got to his feet.

"Let him get inside." Olsen didn't quite reach out to physically stop him from moving, lest it be interpreted as trying to keep him from the confrontation. "It's more secure."

"Is security in on it?" Steve asked, his eyes flicking back to the monitors and trying to register the reaction of the guards.

"They're expecting us, but we never told them who. And we only ever gave them an approximate time – two hour window, so they don't get twitchy." His eyes remained glued to the monitor, as he watched Liddell approach the information desk. There was only one person waiting in line. "Let's go."

"Oh yeah." Steve couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Let's get him before he has the chance to touch your money."

Steve's gun was out of his holster even before the van door was open but, as eager as he was, he knew to stay behind Olsen as he approached the main doors. The bank was expecting the FBI and a mere flash of his badge might not be enough to get him past a security guard that was already expecting some kind of trouble. And the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene and startle their prey into flight. That would only make the bust messy.

His prudence won out and they entered the bank silently and stealthily – just as the final customer stepped to one side and Liddell was left at the front of the queue. Steve's eyes quickly scanned the area – looking for mirrors or reflective surfaces, or anything else that might give him away. When he saw none, he calmly stepped into the space that the thug had just occupied.

And, given the proximity of their target, there was nothing the feds could do about it. Though Steve could sense Olsen going into apoplexy behind him.

"I have an appointment…" Liddell's voice was calm and assured. He had a deal, he had nothing to fear.

"You've got an appointment alright." The opening couldn't have been any more obvious and Steve stepped neatly into it – grasping hold of the henchman's arm. "With the law."

Startled, Liddell spun around, his hand reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Then his brain caught up with his instincts and he recognised Steve Sloan. He started to laugh – and that laugh contained nothing but contempt.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he sneered. He noticed the gun that Steve held, but never considered it as a threat. "You can't touch me. Remember the tape? It's in the safest of places, if you're thinking of reneging on our deal."

"I'm not reneging on anything." Steve's free hand fished for his handcuffs. "And I _am_ taking you down."

As soon as his hands were secure, Steve spun his nemesis around and away from the counter. Then they came face to face with Olsen.

Steve wasn't expecting repercussions there and then. Olsen was too much of a professional to jeopardise the bust in any way – but he knew that there would be plenty to say in the aftermath. But, at that moment in time, he didn't give a damn about any reprimand. He just took pleasure in the moment.

"I'm out before you even complete the paperwork." Liddell spat into the FBI man's face. "Didn't this jerk tell you that we made a deal?"

"I know all about the deal. I know everything that it legally entails." Olsen's face remained impassive. "So I know that it didn't include the fact that you accepted payment to assassinate Mark Sloan."

"You can't know that…" Liddell registered emotion for the first time and that emotion was shock.

"You'd be surprised at what we know." Steve shouldered Olsen to one side and loomed over Liddell. "You're looking at twenty- five to life for conspiracy to commit murder."

Then Steve allowed the feds to lead Liddell away. As soon as they were out of sight, he sagged against a wall.

He had expected to feel a sense of accomplishment, of achievement, but he only felt numb. Richard Liddell had been brought to justice, but he was left with nothing. No satisfaction, no triumph. Nothing.

And it was, he knew, because he had never got the chance to vent his frustration on the man who had made their lives such a living hell. He'd wanted him to fight, he realised; he'd wanted a struggle, a commotion, anything that would allow him to use his fists and maybe inflict some physical pain on the man who had caused them all such utter anguish.

Instead, he was left feeling horribly dissatisfied. And the feeling was only compounded by the knowledge that he had effectively betrayed his best friend. Liddell was being taken down no matter what – as much as Steve disliked the feds, he knew they wouldn't have screwed that up.

He also knew that _he _had screwed up. He was Jesse's best friend and he had let him down in the worst way possible: by not being there when he was needed.

At least that was something he could attempt to resolve, he suddenly decided as he watched three patrol cars screech haphazardly to a halt outside the front of the bank. He briefly wondered as to their presence and then belatedly realised that he had heard at least one person scream during the bust – but then men with guns inside a bank were always likely to provoke such a reaction. He guessed that one of the cashiers must also have impulsively triggered the silent alarm – hence the sudden presence of the uniforms.

The feds – Olsen included – had disappeared along with Liddell and Steve fervently hoped that he would never, ever lay eyes on the henchman again. He didn't overly care what happened to him – it was enough for him to know that he wasn't running loose on the streets of LA. It was a reason for Jesse to sleep ever so slightly easier at night.

He swiftly and surreptitiously made his way towards the nearest fire exit. He wasn't about to get out of the main door – not without being, at the very least, stopped and questioned as a potential witness, badge or no badge. One more alarm, when he opened the fire door, wasn't going to make a great deal of difference.

As he made it out onto the street, he remembered that his car was back at the hospital. When Olsen had showed up with his offer, Steve hadn't thought further ahead than the actual bust. He'd made his choice and to hell with the consequences. Now he was seriously regretting his short-sightedness.

He was hanging around close to a bank that had just been raided by police and it wouldn't serve his best interests to stay there for too long. Though he hoped that his badge would prevent any serious repercussions, he didn't relish the idea of having to answer a whole host of questions

He moved further away from the bank and fished his cellphone from his pocket. It was highly unlikely that he had missed hearing it ring, but he checked it anyway. He hadn't missed any calls. That meant that neither his dad nor Amanda had anything to report, as yet. And _that _meant that the hypnotism was still in progress.

It had to be because, whatever the outcome, someone would have contacted him if it all been over.

Steve glanced up at the sky. It was a fine day, but it wouldn't have mattered if a hurricane had been blowing. He was only a half dozen blocks away from the precinct. There was still time for him to make things right again – and he broke into a run, in order to ensure he was in time to do exactly that.

* * *

The hypnotism was getting difficult to watch. In fact, it was getting nigh on impossible – and they still hadn't touched on the subject that they were desperate to get to the heart of. Exactly what had Reed commanded Jesse to do? And what, if any, residual effects were still lurking inside his tortured mind?

So Mark and Amanda forced themselves to listen, as Jesse hesitatingly recounted the details of his first abduction – from the moment that Liddell had first ambushed him, to being dragged brutally from the trunk of the car.

It was traumatic, it was disturbing – and they were only talking about that first night. They still had the other two abductions to cover.

But Martin – his voice consistently hard and cruel – relentlessly lingered on that first night; on every tiny little detail. And then came the question that everyone had been waiting – and yet dreading – to hear:

"And after the injection – what happened then?"

"Uh… He was talking, but…" Jesse faltered. Walls had been built, blocks had been put in place and now they were crumbling.

_You will kill Mark Sloan._

Words, instructions, commands – they were all being wiped out by that simple truth.

_You will kill Mark Sloan._

"Doctor Travis, you will do as I say!" Martin Samson was suddenly on his feet. "Do you understand me?"

And those words were the trigger. Everything crashed back into Jesse's head and he recoiled from the weight of the memories.

"Do you understand me?" Martin demanded again.

"Yes." Jesse's head raised and he smiled – but the smile looked almost sinister when his eyes were still lost somewhere in the distance.

"Then tell me."

_You will kill Mark Sloan._

"I will kill Mark Sloan."

"And if you fail?" Martin pressed, relentlessly.

"I won't fail. I can't fail." Jesse's voice was monotone. Obviously, something subliminal still had control.

"But if he lives?"

"I will kill Mark Sloan."

In the anteroom, Mark silently shook his head. It couldn't end like this – the damage couldn't be irreversible. He knew that Amanda was crying silently next to him – and his gaze bored through the one-way glass as he willed Martin Samson to come up with a miracle.

Martin looked towards the glass – as though seeking permission, or redemption, or something else entirely. And then he spoke – but he spoke with such reluctance that it seemed that the words were torn out of him.

"I absolve you, I release you," he said – and it was clear that Reed had given him the words to say. "You are free. Do you understand me?"

And Mark's alarm bells went into full alert. _Do you understand me?_ That phrase had been the one consistency throughout.

And his fears were only confirmed when Jesse suddenly began to laugh. It wasn't laughter borne of comedy, or hilarity, or any kind of release. It was the laughter of triumph.

"So you figured it out," he said and the strength in his voice was eerie, given the emptiness in his eyes. "And you're doing this for one of two reasons. Did I kill him or didn't I?"

Martin floundered. He wasn't prepared for this. Even though it was his hypnosis, it now felt completely out of his control. "What if you didn't?" he eventually ventured.

_You will kill Mark Sloan._

"Then I will," Jesse answered, without even a trace of doubt in his voice.

TBC…


	37. Trance 37

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Special thanks to everyone for the outstanding reviews. And thanks most of all for your patience. **

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Seven.

Neither Mark nor Amanda had heard the door open – but suddenly Steve was in the room with them. It didn't matter how he had got there; didn't matter that, in racing across the city, he might have challenged the sprinting times of Olympic contenders. All that mattered was that he arrived in time to hear Martin Samson's last question – and Jesse's final, damning answer.

Mark looked at Amanda, feeling only hopelessness and despair. This had been meant to draw a line under their nightmare – instead it had only shown that there was no awakening in sight.

"What the hell..?" Steve whispered.

Mark turned to look at him, as though only just noticing his presence in the room. In truth, he had been so held in thrall by what was happening that his son's arrival had barely registered at the periphery of his awareness.

"Dad, what the hell was that?" Steve demanded, when it became clear that he wasn't going to receive any verbal response to his original shocked exclamation.

"Steve, you heard what he said," Mark replied with infinite weariness. "You heard it for yourself. I don't… I don't know what else we can do."

"No!" Steve's response was outraged. "No, you can't believe that! You can't tell me that this is how it ends."

"He's right." Amanda turned her tear-stained face towards them. "We can't give up now. There has to be something else we can try. There has to be."

As one, the three of them turned to look back through the window into the Interview Room. The scene was exactly as it had been, only now Martin Samson was looking back in their direction with unmistakable guilt in his eyes. It seemed as though he was waiting for something – maybe a signal of some description. But he was definitely looking for help.

Across the table from him, Jesse still sat smiling vacantly.

Proceedings within that room were definitely at an impasse.

"I could… I could try and instruct Martin to…" Mark was shaking his head as he spoke. He was clutching at the slenderest of straws – and he knew it. But giving up was simply not an option. "I don't know… Maybe…"

"No. Martin doesn't have control any more." Steve cut his father off with steely resolve. "There's only one way we're gonna end this."

Without saying another word, Steve ripped open the door of the anteroom and stormed out. The first thing that Mark and Amanda knew about his intentions was when he burst into the Interview Room.

* * *

All heads turned when the door burst open – bar one. The subject of the hypnotism did not as much as blink. The detective loomed over him, threateningly.

"So, what if you did kill him?" he snarled. He didn't have to fake his anger or his loathing, but he did have to fake who they were aimed at. "What then?"

There was no response, no reaction – not a flicker, nor even a change to the sinister smile that Jesse wore.

The flat of Steve's hand impacted with the table, making everybody but Jesse start in surprise.

"Are you listening? You _did _kill him, Jesse!" he roared. "You killed my father! You killed Mark Sloan! So where does that leave you now?"

Shocked breaths were gasped in and confused glances were exchanged. But, again, the only lack of reaction came from the one man they were desperate to get one from.

"Can he hear me?" Steve demanded of Samson, on seeing how Jesse totally ignored his words.

Martin licked his lips and glanced nervously towards Steve – he didn't know him personally, but knew him by reputation. He knew how loyal he was to both family and friends; knew how determined and driven he could be.

"You will listen to this man," Samson ventured, when he was able to find his voice. The more time that he spent with Jesse, the more he hated everything about it. But he had no choice other than to continue. "You will heed his words." Then, with another anguished glance towards the window, that he knew concealed both Mark Sloan and Amanda Bentley, he added: "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Jesse breathed.

"You killed Mark Sloan," Steve reiterated – his voice low and deadly. "He stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating. You're a doctor. Wouldn't you say that that defines death?"

"I did that?" There was no inflection in Jesse's response – no fear, or remorse; no hope or expectation. It wasn't even curious. It was a question asked flatly – a seeking of the true answer.

"You strangled him and his heart gave out." Steve glowered unblinkingly at the man before him. "So, yes, you did that. Now where does that leave you?"

"I…" Jesse barely choked the word out before he passed clean out, his head connecting solidly with the table.

Steve looked at Samson. Then he looked towards the window, before finally turning back to Samson again: "Do you think that was enough? Do you think he really believed me?"

Samson looked back at him, his expression both shocked and distraught. "I don't know," he quietly confessed. "His reaction seemed genuine, but he was still under my hypnosis, so I… I honestly don't know."

* * *

When Steve's palm connected with the tabletop again, this time in utter frustration, both Mark and Amanda saw it as their cue to move. And they moved with such speed that they had arrived in Interview Room One before any more words were spoken.

"Steve, I don't know if what you just did was incredibly brilliant – or incredibly stupid," Mark said, as he eyed Jesse's prone form.

"You heard what I heard, dad," Steve retorted, in his own defence. "This isn't going to be over until Jesse truly believes that he killed you."

"Well I, for one, am leaning towards the incredibly stupid," Tanis put in, with heavy scepticism. "Your plan is to keep the two of them apart and let Travis live out his life believing he's a murderer?"

Steve shook his head – that had never been a part of his plan. However, his plan actually had very little form. He had seen the simple truth – that he had just stated – and had acted on it. Then he had somehow, vaguely hoped that the rest would fall into place. He didn't even have an answer for Tanis's words.

And then he noticed that his father was smiling. It was a smile that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time – a smile that he recognised, but had not seen for too long. It was a smile that said Mark Sloan had a plan.

"So Jesse believes that he killed me," the older doctor said, his smile fading. "But nobody ever said anything about me staying dead."

"But he's seen you since the attack. He's spoken to you." Amanda pointed out the obvious flaw. "How can this possibly work?"

"Doctor Travis was lost in hypnosis when he passed out." Surprisingly, it was Martin who came up with the response. "He was reliving the night when he was first abducted – and then he was forced to confront the fact that he had succeeded in what his subliminal programming had made him do." The hypnotherapist shook his head. "It will be quite some time before he can sit back and logically think things through."

"Wake him up," Mark commanded, with quiet authority. "Wake him up, but don't snap him out of it."

Strained looks were exchanged, but then it was Amanda who stepped up to the plate. She crouched at Jesse's side. She raised one hand, but then turned back to look uncertainly at Mark.

"Should you be here?" she asked. "If he sees you…"

Mark took a deep breath and then let it out again. His gaze bore into Amanda. "I think I _have_ to be here," he said.

"Dad…" Steve obviously didn't agree with that sentiment.

"I am _not_ going to let Reed win," Mark retorted, fervently. "He's played us up to now, but it's time we stopped following his rules." His eyes returned to Amanda. "Bring him around," he instructed.

"What are you gonna do, Mark?" This time, it was Tanis's voice that gave pause to the proceedings. "Come at him like the ghost of Christmas past? He's just been made to believe that he killed you. What are you trying to achieve here?"

"I'm trying to bring Jesse out of the other side," Mark answered, not maliciously, but with continued fervour. "I'm trying to ensure that Gavin Reed won't have the last laugh in all of this…"

"I can assure you that Reed won't be laughing at all," Newman interrupted and, for once, there was confusion in his expression. "This doesn't make any sense. Reed was so terrified by the death penalty, I'd have staked my life that this wasn't a double-cross."

"What do you mean?" Mark demanded, in stunned surprise. "This was his final revenge – it had to be."

"The man's a coward and he's terrified of death." Tanis confirmed her Captain's words. "This wasn't a ruse – it wasn't some twisted joke. This was his last attempt to save his own life."

"Which failed." Amanda was still crouched at Jesse's side, but she was no longer poised to make an effort to revive him. "And if Gavin Reed can't undo what he did, then what chance do we have?"

"Reed did too good a job," Martin concurred – speaking up again only to voice his professional opinion. "He didn't build in any fail-safes; didn't consider any outcome other than his plan being a complete success." He lowered his eyes. "He was afraid that this would fail."

"He was at the absolute height of his profession." Mark had no choice but to agree – no matter how much it pained him to offer even a hint of praise towards the man. "Which is why we have to play this out on our terms and not his." He paused for long enough to make eye contact with everyone else in the room. "Revive him, Amanda."

"But don't you think we should all know exactly what you have in mind?" It was Steve who voiced the objection, which he was not alone in holding.

"Alright," his father answered, assertively. "This is what we're going to do. And, please, you have to trust me."

* * *

Jesse awakened slowly and, to the observers, exhibited a frightening moment of disorientation that had them wondering whether the hypnosis had been broken when he had passed out.

Then he placed his palms against the tabletop and his gaze focussed somewhere in the middle distance. And that somewhat disturbing smile settled back onto his lips.

"Martin, I want you to ensure that Jesse can hear and react to every single person in this room." Even as he said the words, Mark moved to stand behind Jesse, positioning himself so that he was completely invisible to him, even as an image in the two-way mirror. It wasn't easy, but he successfully located a blind spot.

"Even you?" Martin questioned, still with hesitation in his voice.

"Especially me." Mark's actions belied his answer, as he made no move to make himself any more visible to Jesse.

Martin stared at him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. He took a deep breath.

"Doctor Travis, it's no longer just you and me," he said, after pausing for thought. "It's no longer even just you, me and the Lieutenant. You will listen, hear and respond to every person in this room." He paused again but, this time, everyone knew which words would follow: "Do you understand me?"

"Did I really kill him?" Jesse didn't acknowledge the words – and it was clear that his focus was solely on his ultimate goal. "Tell me it's over."

"Yes, it's over." Amanda stood up and moved into his field of vision. "You know me, Jesse. You know what I do."

"You pronounced?"

At those words, jaws dropped and more silent – if despised – admiration was aimed towards Gavin Reed. He had somehow allowed Jesse to maintain a part of himself and a part of his professionalism even as he was determined to kill a man.

"I put my fingers to his neck and felt no pulse." Amanda didn't have to try to force any tears, they were already hovering dangerously close to the surface. "Wouldn't you say that was dead?"

"I did that?" There was a sudden wavering to Jesse's voice. "I killed him?" And then he broke. "I killed him? Oh God…"

Martin shrugged helplessly. He'd done nothing further to influence the hypnosis and had certainly done nothing to break it. Now it seemed that with the task complete, the thrall had been broken of its own accord.

But that was not the only thing that had been destroyed. Jesse was utterly devastated.

"What have I done?" he moaned, clutching his arms around his midriff. "God, what have I done?"

Tanis aimed a quick glance towards Mark and then got to her feet: "You killed Mark Sloan," she said.

"You were responsible for him dying." Newman, having chosen his words carefully, also rose.

Jesse's face was totally lacking in any colour and he seemed on the verge of passing out – but no mercy was offered to him.

Steve was the last to say his piece: "Are you gonna try and tell me that you don't remember?" he demanded. "Attacking my father, hitting Amanda, fighting with me? How about being arrested? Do you remember that?"

"I remember… I remember everything…" Jesse still clutched at his stomach, as though it physically hurt him to say the words. "I killed him? I remember you stopped me…"

"Not in time – his heart gave out." It was hard for Steve to maintain such a stony expression when his friend was so obviously in pain – but, they hoped that the end was almost in sight for all of them.

"He was clinically dead." Amanda steeled herself to dive back into the fray – no matter how much her heart was breaking. "No heartbeat, no pulse. That equates to dead. You know that don't you, Jesse?"

"I killed him." His shoulders slumped and his head dropped down onto his chest. "Then kill me, too."

"There's no need, buddy." Steve clapped a hand to his shoulder, in what he hoped was a gesture of reassurance. "It's gonna be okay."

"Nobody ever said anything about me staying dead, Jesse." At last, Mark chose to reveal his own presence.

Maybe they were all expecting Jesse to react as though he'd seen a ghost. And his already strained features did morph into utter shock, but the words that escaped his lips were the last ones that any of them wanted to hear:

"_He_ did. He told me." His tone was steeped in devastation. "I was supposed to shoot you in the head, to make sure that there would be no chance of resuscitation. But…" Confusion took over in the battle of his emotions. "But there was no gun."

The mood in the room palpably changed. Steve, Tanis and Newman all instantly became aware that Jesse was still a potential threat.

"So that's where he made his mistake…" Mark mused, mostly to himself. "I knew there would be one; there always is."

"Dad?" Steve questioned – even as he kept a close eye on Jesse and inwardly wondered how quickly he could draw these proceedings to a close.

"Reed wanted results and he wanted them quickly," his father elaborated. "He wasn't prepared to wait for Jesse to…" He trailed off, realising how clinical he was just about to sound in regard to the attempt on his life. "He had a back-up plan lined up." He returned his full focus to Jesse: "Do you remember what he said to you? When were you supposed to try and kill me?"

"I… I wasn't supposed to just try." Jesse was still under Martin's influence, so he had no choice but to answer with utter honesty. "I was supposed to make sure."

"Tell me what he said, Jess."

"You will use your bare hands if necessary. But you will kill him – and you will ensure that he is truly dead; that he will never be resuscitated. You will not fail." Jesse repeated effortlessly, his eyes again lost in the distance.

"And then what?" Mark pressed, completely oblivious to everyone else in the room. In his head, he might as well have been alone with Jesse. "What were your instructions if I was resuscitated, if I was brought back? What then?"

"I… I don't know…" Jesse answered, looking as lost as he sounded.

"Jesse, you killed me!" Mark aimed to shock a response out of his young friend. "You killed me, but here I am! What are you supposed to do now?"

"I… I…" Jesse looked helpless. His brow furrowed as, subconsciously, he searched for a command that wasn't there. "I can't… He didn't say…"

"Leave the room," Mark murmured – finally turning his head to look at the other people assembled. "Leave us alone."

"No, dad!"

"Steve…"

"It's not gonna happen, dad," Steve responded, vociferously. "I won't let you use yourself to conduct some kind of an experiment."

"It's going to happen sooner or later, Steve," Mark argued, not unreasonably. "Either by design or accident, we will be in a situation where we're alone together. Doesn't it make more sense that it should be by design?"

TBC…


	38. Trance 38

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Special thanks to everyone for the outstanding reviews. And thanks most of all for your patience. **

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Eight.

"Wait!" Martin interrupted them – and somehow he exhibited a sense of both reluctance and urgency. "Before you do anything, there's something that you need to consider."

"What?" Amanda asked, looking at Martin as though she had completely forgotten his presence in the room.

"He's still under my influence," the hypnotist reminded her, grimly: "I know that Reed has somehow played a large part in everything that's happened, but it is still my hypnosis."

"But what does that mean, Martin?" Mark asked, and he was as focussed as ever. "Will Jesse remember anything of what just happened?"

"He'll remember everything, but…" Martin hesitated and shook his head. "If you want to know for sure that Doctor Travis is really over this, then I have to bring him out of it. Otherwise, you can't be sure that any of his reactions are true."

Steve's hand clamped down on his arm: "Is it you doing this, or Reed?"

"Only me," Martin answered, with utter conviction. "I hypnotised him and now I have to bring him out of it. It's not only a necessity; it's an ethic."

"But what's going to happen then?" Amanda wondered, her concerned eyes straying towards Jesse. "What else has he got to go through?"

"He'll remember everything – _everything_ – and then he'll…" Martin shrugged, helplessly. "He'll react."

"He'll 'react'?" Steve repeated, incredulously. "Could you be any more vague?"

"Steve." Mark's calm voice was the one that answered. "You should have realised by now that this is an inexact science. In fact, there are a lot of people who would argue that it's not even a science," he continued, with an apologetic glance towards the man whose profession he had bordered on slandering. "But this has got to end and we need to bring Jesse back."

Steve exchanged a long glance with his father and then, almost imperceptibly, they both aimed a nod towards Martin.

The hypnotist retrieved a coin from his pocket. It was the same coin that had enticed Jesse into his thrall.

"Watch the coin, Doctor Travis," he commanded, in his gently persuasive way. "Watch the coin." He flipped the said article up into the air and then waited for it to come into contact with the table. It began to spin on an unstable axis, but then Martin's hand slammed it onto the surface.

"Wake," he said.

And Jesse slumped forwards over the table. This time, his collapse was only momentary and he swiftly jerked back upright. He looked lost and confused – but, again, the effect was over in barely a second.

It was apparent to everyone in the room the exact moment that the memories crashed down on him.

* * *

"No!"

Jesse tried to stand up, but the chair behind him hampered the movement and he half fell. Tanis was the closest at hand to try and catch him, but she was shocked when he jerked violently away.

"Don't! Don't…" He found his feet and staggered towards the wall. As soon as he felt its reassuring solidity against his shoulder, he slid down into a crouch. "No more…" he cried. "Please… Stop…"

At first, the six other people in the room could only stand and stare in stunned silence. So much for a reaction.

Then, as was his wont, Captain Newman took control: "Doctor Travis, do you know where you are?" And his was not a voice that could be ignored – as many had learnt in the past, both colleague and criminal.

Jesse blinked up at him and then slowly looked around. For the first time in a long time, his mind was wholly his own – and it was all too much for him to take:

_Now he could recognise Gavin Reed and he could hear the words that outlined his evil intent; he could see Liddell, his torturer, and remembered every damning revelation as to how their paths had crossed before; he remembered Utah – though that memory was as vague and inconclusive as it had ever been. _

_He remembered Mark's face as he 'died', Steve's face as he battled his own demons, first believing that Jesse was the enemy and then trying to reconcile against that belief; Amanda's face as she sought to hold them all together._

_He even recalled his own face, stark and pale as it stared back at him from a mirror on the infirmary wall. _

"Do you know where you are?" Newman barked again – then Tanis stepped into the silence that followed. She bent down low and somehow, without ever making physical contact, forced him to meet her eyes.

"You're at the precinct and you're safe," she said – her tone only ever matter-of-fact and not even the slightest reassuring. "So how about you start talking and then we can all get out of here?"

Jesse blinked at her. Her stark words were a long way removed from the kid gloves – born of guilt or fear or uncertainty – that he had recently been treated with and was, therefore, used to.

"Talk?" he asked, still sounding lost.

"Talk," Tanis answered, standing back up straight and folding her arms across her chest. To her relief, Jesse's eyes remained locked with hers.

"I… I…" The moment was broken and Jesse's gaze roved around the room, taking in the sight of everyone there – including a supposedly dead man. His psyche had still not reconciled with everything that had happened and he backed away from Mark, as though his former mentor was some kind of avenging angel. "But you're dead," he gasped in a strangled tone. "I killed you."

"Yes, you did Jesse." If there was ever a right time to reveal the charade then now was not it. Mark sincerely doubted that there would ever be such a time. "But I was revived and I'm alive and now the hold on you has been broken. Do you remember that?"

"I… I think so…"

Worried glances were exchanged at Jesse's hesitant words, as more doubts that this was really over were cast into their minds.

"I remember so many things." He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, as though trying to shut out those memories. "I don't want to remember!"

"But you have to!" Mark grasped hold of Jesse's wrists and dragged his hands clear. Steve hovered close by concerned at the obvious risk this might have on his father's own health but, for the moment at least, he held his tongue. "You have to remember and come to terms with everything and then try to… move on." He looked at Jesse apologetically, knowing how trite that sounded – so easy for him to say, so impossibly difficult for Jesse to do – but he had no other words.

"Move on?" Jesse looked at him with something akin to horror on his face. "How can I..?" His voice became weaker as his eyes became more distant. "Move on..?" he repeated, weakly.

"Yeah, Jesse." Steve stepped into the breach. "Move on. This is over now."

And as if he had some kind of precognitive power, the door chose that exact moment to open.

Tanis reacted quickly and intercepted the would-be interloper before he could take a single step into the room. She relaxed a little – but not completely – as she recognised the uniform, and the cop who wore it. She plucked a note from his fingers and sent him on his way.

Then she closed the door and perused the note – and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Let me see that." Steve tore the note from his partner's unresisting fingers and rapidly scanned the contents. Then he read it again, more slowly.

"Sloan?" It was Newman who voiced the curiosity that they were all feeling.

"It's over, Jess," he said, with utter conviction. "It's really over. Reid is facing the death penalty; Liddell will be lucky to be out before he's fifty; and Yoshimoto…" He trailed off as every eye in the room was turned towards him.

He glanced back down at the paper that he held and then read the words aloud: "Johnny Chung, AKA Vincent Nguyen, AKA _Hero Yoshimoto_…" Steve frowned to himself at the overt mention of the chemist. Yes, it was a preliminary police report, but neither he – nor any of the rest of them – had any trouble in recognising that particular alias. He read on: "was found dead inside his apartment. Preliminary findings indicate an execution; it looks like a mob hit."

"The mob?" Amanda cried – disturbed beyond reason by this latest twist. "What..? Mark? Why would the mafia be involved?"

"I don't know, Amanda," the older doctor muttered, suddenly looking as though he carried every one of his years. "Jesse?" he asked, almost without hope.

Jesse looked up at the half-expectant faces that surrounded him. He was the only one who knew everything that had happened; he was the only one who could potentially answer the questions that so clearly burned within them. He didn't want to remember every last little detail, but nor did he want to let his friends down again.

He closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself for what he was about to do – and forced his mind back to those terror filled nights when Gavin Reed had had him at his complete mercy.

"It was a… a demonstration…" he murmured eventually, remembering cruel and hate-filled words. "They were going to show the World what they had created; the power they had; the… the complete control they could wield over any human being. The things they said they could make me do…"

Mark's eyes softened in sympathy. The men who had taken Jesse had exhibited nothing other than pure sadism – it made him shudder to think of what other twisted threats they might have come up with.

"It's okay, Jess," he said – because the moment demanded that he say _something_, no matter how inadequate it seemed. "It's over now and they can't hurt you any more."

Jesse didn't respond to those words – in fact, he barely even heard them. He was still lost inside his own memories and trying hard to hold onto his sanity long enough to explain what they wanted to know. And the only way he was ever going to do that was by trying to be detached – to not let his own horror overcome him as he remembered. He took a deep, but still somewhat shaky, breath:

"They talked," he said, eventually. "After…" It was so hard it was almost impossible. "After I was under… I guess… I guess they never figured I'd be in a position to say anything." It was a strange sensation, that particular memory. He could remember the words, but there wasn't any feeling or emotion attached to them. He had felt no horror, or revulsion, or fear. At least, back then he hadn't. Now he recalled Liddell's sick theory of forcing someone to become a child molester and decided that there were some things he would never, ever share. He forced his mind back on track: "And sometimes they argued… Reed and… and the man who injected me."

"Yoshimoto," Steve supplied on a murmur, but it was doubtful that anyone even heard him.

"He only cared about the money," Jesse continued. "He said that Reed was blind, that everything was wrong." He scowled at the memory. "I was supposed to be someone special… someone prominent. He said they would make millions. It was supposed to send shockwaves around the World."

His three closest friends exchanged glances. It had certainly sent shockwaves around _their _world.

"So it looks like Yoshimoto might have already spent some of those promised millions," Tanis said to Newman, sotto voce.

"Either that or he took a hefty payment up front in order to stage his 'demonstration'. Whatever the reason, his backers were clearly unimpressed by the result." Newman's reply was also softly spoken, but both voices still carried.

Steve glanced over towards them: "And so it ties up the last loose end."

"Not quite the last," Mark reminded him, sparing a glance towards Jesse. The young doctor was still focussed inwards; still remembering. And he hadn't yet finished sharing those memories:

"It shouldn't have been me," he whispered. "The chemist never wanted it to be me. I was _wrong_. They could blame me, find a motive… But the other man…the man who took me… Liddell…" Merely mentioning the name forced an involuntary shudder. "He wanted it to be me…"

And another memory came back – one that he wished with all of his heart could have remained buried: _Utah! _He fought back a whimper as he was taken back to a place he thought he would never have to revisit – and then he slammed the door firmly shut on that memory.

"What do you mean, honey?" Amanda asked, perturbed by his choice of words.

Jesse baulked. He didn't want to talk about it – _couldn't _talk about it. That chapter of his life was forever going to remain closed.

"He wanted to hurt me," he temporised. "That's all he cared about." Unwittingly, his fingers ghosted upwards and traced across the wound on his ribs.

Amanda watched, but said nothing – she didn't know if he'd been told that those scars were permanent.

Next to her, Steve silently fumed. His entire body was tense with fury and his guilt forced rigidity into his features, so that he wouldn't betray his raging emotions. He'd had Liddell: twice he had stood face to face with the man. And twice he had done nothing to even attempt to repay some of the pain that he had inflicted on Jesse. Yes, the man was going to jail, but that hardly seemed like punishment enough. The man deserved to know pain, to know utter agony and sheer terror. He deserved to know how it felt to be so completely broken – as Jesse had been.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, as frustration crept up to join his warring emotions. Silently, futilely, he vowed that if ever he were face to face with that sadist again then he would kill him. The pledge didn't help Jesse – it didn't even help to ease his own conscience – but it was all that he had. It would have to be enough.

* * *

"So, what now?" Tanis asked, into the silence that had descended.

Jesse had fallen silent and Mark and Amanda were watching him worriedly. Steve was lost somewhere inside his own thoughts and Martin Samson was looking as though he really didn't belong there – like he was an interloper on what should have been a very private conversation, even though none of it would have been possible without him. Newman, of course, was as inscrutable as ever.

Surprisingly, it was Jesse who answered her: "I really, really just wanna go home," he pleaded.

But even as he said the words, he wondered as to their truth. He had the memories now – and, even as much as he wanted to shy away from them, he couldn't simply forget it all again. Liddell had been responsible for all of the strange things that had happened to him; Liddell had been in his apartment – had been in there whilst he was _in the shower_; Liddell had taken him home, stripped him down to his boxers and put him into bed; Liddell had abducted him from outside that very apartment.

As those thoughts crossed his mind, Jesse felt almost physically sick. Home wasn't even home any more. But, as repulsed as he felt, the need to get away was even more compelling.

"Jess, are you sure?" Mark's response was filled with compassion – he'd had no trouble deciphering the emotions as they flashed across Jesse's expressive features.

"No… no, I'm not." Jesse laughed without humour – it felt as though he was almost compelled to tell the truth. And, in a way, he was. The truth was all he had left to offer – and it was the only stepping stone he had towards rebuilding their trust. "But…" _I've got nowhere else to go. _He didn't speak that thought aloud – it sounded too much like an accusation. "I just…" He looked up, his eyes seeking out someone who he might feel able to ask a favour of. He shied away from those he'd hurt – no matter how much they protested that they levelled no blame at him; Newman still intimidated him too much to even think of speaking to; Martin was looking as though he was trying to blend in with the furniture. That left only one option: "Tanis, please will you take me home?"

TBC…


	39. Trance 39

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Thanks, as ever, for the reviews. **

TRANCE.

Part Thirty-Nine.

Tanis agreed his quiet request – but, even as she acquiesced, she could feel accusatory stares burning into her. But she'd had no reason to say no; no reason to hold him at the precinct. And she did fully understand the need that was driving him.

He was looking for control, for a way of taking his life back into his own hands. And she wasn't going to be the one to deny him of that.

Even as she knew all of that, she was also acutely aware that they were followed back to the apartment complex. It didn't surprise her and she knew exactly who was in the car behind – no matter how expertly Steve Sloan drove to try and conceal his presence. She had sat alongside him on too many such shadowing assignments to be fooled by any of the tricks that he knew.

But she didn't mention any of this to Jesse. He was already on edge and, no matter what assurances she may have offered, even the mere hint that they were being followed – no matter by whom – would, quite possibly, have driven him right over it.

As it was, the young doctor almost jumped out of his skin when they rounded a corner and found a police cruiser parked outside his front door. He turned anguished eyes towards her.

"Relax, Travis," Tanis said, before his ever growing paranoia could manifest itself in words. "We know what went down and we know that you haven't been back here in a while. I made a call – thought it might make sense to get the place checked out before you went back in."

"Th… Thank you…" Jesse was surprised at how truly and deeply grateful he felt at her words. It helped that he wasn't walking back in there blind, but the thought of being alone still utterly petrified him.

He glanced sidelong at Tanis, wondering if he could work up the nerve to invite her in for a while – and what her reaction would be if he did. Then he realised that it didn't matter anyway. Loneliness was something that he might as well get used to, for he had no intention of either inviting or allowing his dear friends to share any closeness with him ever again.

* * *

From a safe distance, but still within view of the car they had so painstakingly followed, Steve frowned to himself and wondered at the delay. Neither Jesse nor Tanis showed any inclination towards getting out of the car.

It wouldn't have surprised him to know that she had spotted his 'tail' – in fact, he would have been disappointed if she hadn't – but he never thought that she might share her information with Jesse.

Tanis certainly couldn't have informed him of their reasons for being there, for she hadn't been privy to that information. It wasn't that his partner hadn't been trusted – she had been there throughout it all and had helped them immeasurably. And she should have been included in this final gambit – but there simply hadn't been the time to bring her up to speed.

Jesse's release had been procured quickly – there was no reason to deny him his request to go home – and it wasn't until after that event that Mark, Steve, Amanda – with Martin Samson's help – had come up with their last ditch attempt to find some sort of closure.

"What are they waiting for?" Amanda fretted. She could play no actual part in the plan that they had concocted, but she still felt the driving need to be there. If they succeeded, she wanted to know about it first-hand – even if she couldn't directly witness it. She tried not to think about what would happen if they failed. The consequences had the potential to be utterly disastrous.

"What if he can't go in?" Mark asked his own question, instead of answering Amanda's. "What if he's too afraid?"

"Where else would he go?" Steve retorted, dourly. He still wasn't happy with the plan and hadn't quite figured out exactly how he had been persuaded – or perhaps coerced – into agreeing with it.

"I just wish that we'd had time to tell Tanis." Amanda's concern was still evident in her voice. "At least then…"

"Hold it. Something's happening." Steve leant forwards in his seat as he saw the passenger door of Tanis's car slowly open.

* * *

Jesse knew that he has stalled for long enough. In fact, stalled wasn't even the right word. Stalling involved procrastination, of making small talk and excuses. But he had just sat there in awkward and uncomfortable silence – waiting for the inevitable snide comment that Tanis was surely on the verge of uttering as the time dragged indeterminably onwards.

Then she spoke and he was surprised by both her words and the gentleness of her tone: "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." It was a lie and they both knew it – but Jesse wasn't even sure exactly what she was asking. Was she referring to him getting out of the car and going into his apartment alone? Or did she mean the question to encompass his more long-term future? Whichever the case, he couldn't truthfully answer either one in the affirmative.

Tanis didn't elaborate and nor did she call him on the lie. So Jesse took the only option left open to him and reached for the door handle.

"You know that your friends want to help you." Tanis's again gentle voice delayed him from exiting the car. "Don't shut us out."

Her use of the word 'us' gave him further pause, but he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it. Distance was the key – it was the only safety net that he had. And he had to maintain that distance from everyone.

It was the only way he could guarantee that he would never again do anything so heinous – and it would also give him time to figure out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.

* * *

Jesse wandered into his empty apartment. He had passed two police officers on the stairs – and knowing that they had been there solely to secure his apartment gave him a very fleeting feeling of reassurance. Once inside, he locked the door and dropped his keys onto the table.

Then he took a long look around, striving to remember the last time he had been there. Sudden and brutal flashbacks assaulted him – all the more vicious because they were random and unformed and focussed solely on the mind games that Liddell had inflicted on him: the glass in his shoe and mismatched socks; the smiley face in his mirror; the cup of coffee sitting so innocuously on his table; his unlocked front door…

His fleeting reassurance and subsequent feeling of safety deserted him completely, leaving him trembling and paranoid and almost on the verge of tears. How was he supposed to carry on living in that place? How could he ever feel secure again? And that question did not only apply to his living arrangements – not by a long shot.

Every moment that passed, everything that happened and every thought that crossed his mind were all pointing him in the same inevitable direction: he had to get away.

But he also knew his friends – and knew how well they knew him. They would anticipate his need for flight and he wondered exactly how long he would be left alone.

Somehow, he resisted the urge to peek through his window and see if Tanis – or even the squad car – was still waiting outside, ready to apprehend him should he intend to put his only option into immediate effect. They would try to stop him – that was as inevitable as the day following the night. And that simply meant that he didn't have the luxury of time. He knew that he'd barely even have time to pack.

His mind was already racing – it helped to focus on something forwards, rather than dwelling on the past – as he, for the first time, put some thought into his future. It wasn't elaborate or even detailed thought; but it was thought all the same.

If he was determined to get away then he had to do it now. He had to grab what he needed and go – and he even somehow had the forethought to know that he had to sneak out the back way, just in case – as he suspected might happen – Tanis, or those uniforms were still keeping an eye on his place.

It wasn't easy trying to figure out exactly what he should take with him. Too much would be time consuming, but too little might force him to return way before he was ready.

He gave brief consideration to just leaving with the clothes that he wore, but that was never going to be an option either. He didn't have a job any more – he never even considered otherwise – so he couldn't simply buy what he needed. He had to take as much as he practically could and then try to live frugally until he could find a way to bring in some income.

He tried not to think so far ahead as having to give up the lease on his apartment. Anything long term sent his mind shrieking into near panic. He could only think of the day-to-day stuff. And that meant clothes, money, toiletries and a car.

_His car!_

He didn't know where his beloved convertible was. And without his car, he was struggling to go anywhere. Memories still flashed at him – the car park and the brown sedan; the van and the handcuffs; the duct tape and the open trunk – but he was struggling to put order to those memories. It was all coming back too quickly and he needed to take the time to sit down and sort them through; to remember exactly _when_ it had all happened.

But, in the turmoil of all his emotions; of the abductions, the hypnotism and the torture; of everything he had been forced to endure – suddenly it hit him hard. He didn't even know where his car was.

Jesse bit back a sob. It was trivial and unimportant – an inconvenience at worse. But it cut down into his very soul. Even though it was supposedly over, he still hadn't got even a semblance of his life back. He was too afraid to even look through the window for his Mustang – and how pathetic was that?

A second later, he tried to shrug off the mystery of his car. It didn't matter. He couldn't have taken the Mustang anyway – not if he really didn't want to be found. It was a distinctive car and his plates were a matter of record. It wasn't the way to disappear into anonymity.

No, he would have to take a cab. Brief panic flared at the memory of the last cab ride he had taken – he successfully quashed it, but only with the painful knowledge of everything else that had been done to him. He mentally amended his ever improvising plan: he would walk for a block or two and then maybe flag down a cab – or better yet, he'd take a bus.

And then he would be home free.

He never had a particular destination in mind, but that was a minor detail. If even he didn't know where he was going, then it would be doubly difficult to track him.

His friends would worry about him, of course they would – but their worry was a vast improvement to the alternative. If he was gone then there would never be the risk of him hurting any of them ever again.

He even took a second to consider that by leaving he would be inadvertently hurting them – but that was a pain he was willing to inflict. A little emotional pain right now was wholly acceptable, considering the alternatives. Yes, they might all be sad – but they would get over it.

If he didn't flee…

That thought was cut off rudely and abruptly, as somebody knocked loudly on his door.

* * *

Amanda sat in the back of Steve's car and watched Jesse's apartment through frightened eyes. No matter how much she wanted to help, she had to take a back seat. Her cell phone was clutched firmly in her right hand – a part of her prayed that it would ring, but a larger part prayed that it wouldn't.

If it rang, it might signify the end to their every hope. But it might also be a blessed voice telling her that it was all over, that their plan had worked to perfection and they could all get back on with their lives.

She knew that that was a very small possibility indeed. Nothing had been fair to them so far and she had no reason to expect that to change now.

If, on the other hand, her phone _didn't_ ring – then at least she would have the knowledge that it hadn't all gone to hell in a hand basket.

Mark's medical bag sat at her feet and she also prayed that she wouldn't be needing it.

She hated feeling so helpless; hated the waiting and the wondering; hated that she had absolutely no clue what was happening.

But nor could she possibly be anywhere else. There were times when she felt it was best to keep busy – to attempt to keep her mind off things and to try and speed up the passage of time, when the waiting could seem tortuous. This was not one of those times. Work was out of the question – she knew she did not possess the ability to concentrate at all. And with all of her closest friends so tied up in this mess, there was nowhere else for her to go and nothing else for her to do.

Her cellphone suddenly rang and Amanda had to stifle a shriek. She was almost afraid to look at the caller ID and her hands shook as she did so.

_Gina. _It was one of her assistants and Amanda never spared her a second thought as she rejected the call.

As soon as her phone stopped trilling, she wondered at the chances of Steve trying to reach her at the precise moment that her number was busy. She had his number saved on speed-dial and it would have taken a fraction of a second to call him. But by calling him – by having his own phone ringing at precisely the wrong moment – she might blow the entire plan.

So all she could do was sit back and wait – as much as she hated how that made her feel.

Her cellphone rang again: _Gina_. She rejected the call again.

* * *

Jesse stared at the locked door for a long time – long enough for whoever was on the other side to grow impatient and knock again.

He had no real reason not to answer – but, at the same time he was terrified of who it might be. Liddell's image wouldn't leave his mind and his eyes wildly sought out his trusty baseball bat.

Then the knocking occurred for a third time – and this time a voice accompanied it:

"Jesse?" It was Mark's voice and he sounded concerned. "Will you please open the door?"

Déjà vu speared though him and Jesse flashbacked to the time when Perris Pharmaceuticals had messed with his head. Mark had turned up on his doorstep back then, too.

He didn't bother with the peephole, but simply yanked the door open even as the knocking resumed again.

"_Hey Mark, I didn't know you made house calls."_

The memory was fresh in his mind, but the words died on his lips. He had expected to see at least Steve and Amanda flanking his mentor – but, aside from Mark, the corridor was empty.

"May I come in?" Mark asked, and his tone was calm and simply conversational. It sounded as though he had nothing to fear.

Jesse froze. He stood with the door ajar and found that he literally could not move.

"Jesse?" Mark prompted.

Jesse backed away, neither accepting nor denying his mentor's self invitation. Mark stepped over the threshold.

"You… you shouldn't be here." Jesse couldn't disguise the panic in his voice – adrenaline had kicked in, triggering the instinctive 'fight or flight' response. But his feet remained rotted firmly to the spot as utter terror at what might transpire next held him paralysed.

He didn't feel any sudden urge to attack Mark, but that meant nothing. He hadn't felt anything the last time. It was one of his most frightening memories – more terrifying than anything that had been physically done to him – that complete lack of emotion. How had Reed accomplished that? How had he turned him into such an automaton, driven only by the need to kill? Murder should have motive; it should be driven by something: revenge, passion, or financial gain.

He should have felt _something _and it terrified him even more to think that he would have no warning, no sudden surge of anger, should Reed's influence still maintain any hold over him.

Then Mark spoke and Jesse realised that, not for the first time, he had underestimated his mentor. It was as though Mark could see into his very soul:

"I have every faith in you, Jesse. I know that you're strong enough to beat this." The older doctor smiled benignly – and yet still managed to convey his absolute confidence. "This is the only way we can ever be sure."

"But…" Jesse could not share that confidence and nor could he hide his ongoing fear.

"We're in the same room Jess; there's nobody else here." Mark interrupted him, before he could protest any further. He looked Jesse straight in the eye. "We're alone."

And Jesse's heart almost stopped. That had been the trigger; those were the exact words that had preceded his murderous rampage.

* * *

Jesse backed away, his heart pounding.

"Do you want to kill me, Jesse?" Mark stalked after him, relentlessly.

Jesse continued to retreat – his hands held up as though in surrender for some crime that he was yet to commit – or one he had already committed.

"Jesse!" Mark's voice was loud within the confines of the apartment. "Tell me what you're thinking; what you're feeling."

"I… I…" There were no words. He couldn't say that everything was alright, that it was all back to normal again. He couldn't say that it was over and he couldn't respond to Mark's demand – simply because he didn't know. If his life had depended on it, he couldn't have explained exactly what he was feeling.

Yes, he was afraid. But he was afraid _for _Mark and afraid of what might yet happen. He was on the verge of panic – and yet a small part of him remained detached. His thoughts were reckless and almost without rationale, but he was wondering if he could find something sharp enough to slit his wrists with, should the urge to attack his dear friend strike him again. He was wondering if he could change his potential destiny – if he could somehow hold onto control for long enough to defeat Gavin Reed.

"Jesse, please." Mark's voice cut through his thoughts and it still seemed to be pitched unnaturally loud. "Talk to me, son."

"I'm sorry…" Jesse had backed up so far that the wall now stopped his progress. His accursed hands moved up to cover his face. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Mark tried to close the distance between them, but was perturbed when his young friend shied away – a cry of genuine distress escaping from his lips.

"How..? How can you do this..?" Jesse wrapped his arms around his midriff and turned even further away. "How can you trust me?"

"Because _you_ haven't done anything wrong." As ever, Mark strove to close the distance between them – and this time Jesse had nowhere else to retreat. "Jesse, think about what's been happening here – think about these last few minutes. We've been alone, Jess – just you and me. The last time that happened, you were in a police cell. You would have known, even subconsciously, that help was mere seconds away. So where do you think the help is coming from now? Why haven't you attacked me again?"

"Mark…"

"It's over, Jess." Impulsively, Mark closed the remaining short distance between them and grasped his friend's shoulders. "I don't know how more over this could be." Even as he spoke, Mark's eyes sought out the double doors that led out onto the fire escape. The latch had been lifted, making access from the outside as simple as opening a door.

TBC…


	40. Trance 40

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Thanks, as ever, for the reviews. **

TRANCE.

Part Forty.

Steve couldn't leave his vantage point – even when it seemed that there was no longer any reason for him to stay. It didn't matter how well things seemed to be going inside the apartment; he wasn't quite ready to take any chances as yet.

It had been a simple enough matter for him to manipulate the balcony lock – and he recalled doing exactly the same thing once before. Again, he was reminded of how deeply this situation was intertwined with Jesse's abduction at the hands of Perris Pharmaceuticals.

He didn't trust coincidences and the name of Perris Pharmaceuticals had cropped up way too often for his liking. More than he didn't like coincidences, he didn't trust them. Such things didn't 'just' happen and too many coincidences meant that he'd missed a connection. He inwardly wondered if he would ever be able to unravel this whole mess and find out what it was.

But, for now, he had a more immediate matter to deal with. His father, albeit against his own better judgement, had done a sterling job. It had been a brave plan – almost a foolhardy one – but it had worked.

Jesse couldn't have known that Steve was lurking outside his apartment; couldn't have known that his balcony doors were so easily broken into – a state of affairs that Steve mentally noted would have to change; couldn't have possibly known that he and Mark were a long way removed from being alone.

None of it mattered in the long run, anyway. Jesse had believed everything that went down and he'd believed every single one of Mark's sincerely spoken words. The plan and their lies would forever remain their secret.

Still unwilling and still unable to simply walk away, Steve pressed his ear to the doors. Though his father had deliberately projected his voice towards the hidden eavesdropper, Jesse's responses were a lot more difficult to make out.

Everything he had heard had worked towards convincing him that his dad's plan wasn't actually suicidal – and that it might stand a chance of working. As the conversation inside continued, he slid down the wall until he was squatting on his haunches. He was still close enough to hear what was happening – but he no longer felt the need to be on full alert. He wasn't ready to leave his dad and Jesse alone – not yet; and probably not for a long time – but he did allow himself some small semblance of relaxation.

He was even happy to trust his dad to re-latch the door that he had unlocked; it wouldn't do for Jesse to know how vulnerable his apartment was.

* * *

Jesse's eyes were unbelieving and, when he spoke, his voice was the same: "How can it be over?"

"Think it through, Jess." Mark's own voice held only calm reasoning. "Replay it all in your head. If you were going to attack me again, then I've just presented you with the perfect opportunity."

"But why would you do that?" Jesse still wasn't quite in a place where rational thought held any sway over his emotions.

"Because this was the only way," the older man answered. "We could have tiptoed around one another, always staying in company and hoping that we would never find ourselves in this situation…"

"Or you could have let me go." Jesse's interjection wasn't surprising.

"That was never going to be an option, my friend." He clasped Jesse's shoulder – wondering how else he could possibly get through to him. That tactic failed as well, because the young man moved bodily away from him. "Jesse, I have never stopped trusting you…"

"You don't understand!" The response was torn from him. "You can't!"

"Then explain it to me!" Jesse's back was to him again and he feared that he wouldn't get a reply. Then the young man's voice floated back to him – low and wretched:

"It's not about you trusting me; it's about _me _trusting me." His shoulders slumped in utter defeat. "I can't do that. And if I can't do that, then I can't be a doctor. I can't be anything. Mark, I'm sorry. I can't stay."

"Then the son-of-a-bitch did beat us after all."

Jesse felt torn apart by the emotions that raged in Mark's words: the devastation, the anger and the bitter disappointment. But most of all, it was the defeat. Mark Sloan was never defeated – until now. The trouble was that Jesse didn't know how he could give victory back to him – he just didn't have that ability.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, inadequately.

Mark sighed – deep and heartfelt. "Jesse," he said. "I can't force you to stay – and I wouldn't even try. But I do think that we've known each other long enough for me to ask one last favour of you – one last promise."

"I don't…"

"Won't you at least wait and hear what it is before you refuse?" Mark gently cajoled. "Please?"

Jesse nodded, abashed. Then he turned around – because if he was going to make a promise to Mark, then he would look him in the eyes while he did so.

"Come to the beach house tonight." Mark smiled sadly. "Come and have dinner. If you're so determined to go – at least give your friends the chance to say goodbye. We won't put any pressure on you – I swear. But I really don't want things to end like this."

"Mark…" Jesse was shaking his head, even as the words were spoken.

"Don't you think you owe us all at least that much?" Mark played the 'guilt' card with reluctance – but he needed this to happen. And he had been charged with making it happen. "Promise me you will, Jess."

No matter how much he hated the very idea – Jesse could think of no real reason to refuse. It was such a little thing being asked of him. Most importantly, Mark had promised that he wouldn't try to make him stay: "Okay," he reciprocated. "I promise."

* * *

Steve heaved a sigh of his own as he hauled himself back to his feet. He could only feel relieved that at least a part of his father's plan had paid off. And it was the most important part: Jesse had not tried to kill Mark. The thrall was well and truly broken.

It might have seemed to some that that fact was not still proven. After all, Steve had lurked just the other side of an unlocked door for the whole time – but Mark, with his irrefutable logic, had deemed that inconsequential.

Jesse might have suspected, even subconsciously, that Mark would not be truly alone – that his son would not allow such a reckless plan – but logic, in Jesse's head, was never a part of the equation. Reed had been too reckless, too impatient. Logic never came into it.

The trigger was the _moment_ that they were alone – and that trigger hadn't been pulled.

A wry smile crossed his lips as he heard Mark procure Jesse's promise. This was the part of the plan that he hated more than any other.

Of course, he had argued vociferously that Mark should not place himself in such immediate danger – until a mere closed, and not even locked, door between them negated that argument.

And his father had been right, as he so often was. He had also been right about their friend's inevitable need to flee.

That was where the plan did not sit quite so comfortably with him. He tried not to think that far ahead.

They had all agreed to be at the beach house – whatever happened – and now Jesse was guaranteed to be there too. He waited until he heard his father say his goodbyes before moving away from the balcony doors. Once out of earshot, he pulled out his cellphone.

"Amanda, it's on for tonight." He spoke quickly when the pathologist answered the phone – not wanting to give her the chance to fear the worst. "Eight o'clock at the beach house."

He hung up after she had promised to make the necessary arrangements and then Steve raised his eyes to the heavens. He didn't like the plan; wasn't sure that he trusted it. But their options were rapidly descending towards zero and he had agreed to play his part. That didn't stop him from taking a brief moment to wonder exactly what the hell they were getting into.

* * *

As soon as he'd locked the door behind Mark, Jesse sank down onto his couch and put his head in his hands – instantly regretting the promise he had made.

He didn't want to say goodbye; didn't want to have to face them all again; didn't want to see their anguish or have to explain exactly why he felt the need to do what he was doing.

His only wish was to disappear from their lives and find some place where he could never again cause them any harm. But Mark had forced a promise from him and he could not break that promise.

Technically, it would have been easy to do exactly that. He could follow his original plan: throw a few things into a holdall and take the next bus out of town. Mark had gone, leaving him alone, so there really was nothing to stop him.

Nothing, that is, aside from the final words that his mentor had spoken to him:

"_I'm going home now, Jess. I need to start preparing tonight's dinner." He'd offered Jesse a gentle smile. "I'll see you at eight o'clock sharp. And Jesse – I'm trusting you to be there."_

And so he was compelled not to run. Trust had been extended to him – and, even if he felt he was wholly undeserving of it, he could not betray that trust. In his eyes, it was a miracle that anyone would be able to put any faith in him – even over something as innocuous as a dinner invitation – and he would not, _could_ not betray that. But that left him staring at a long and empty afternoon, with nothing to do but think.

He raked his fingers through his hair. A shower seemed like an enticing prospect but, as with so many things, the thought of taking a shower prompted a memory that almost crippled him into paralysis.

Jesse knew that he had to be strong – he had to at least try if he was ever going to maintain a hold on his fragile sanity. He swallowed nervously and glanced towards the bathroom door. The smiley face in his mirror had been physically harmless but, psychologically, it still had the power to terrify him. It was almost laughable: after everything that had happened – and now he knew exactly what that all entailed – it was that particular invasion of privacy that was cutting him the deepest.

Maybe it was because his imagination had always been way too fertile and he had been _naked_ when the smiley face was drawn. Maybe he was inwardly envisaging the very worst that could have happened to him when he was so totally at the mercy of others. It made him sick to his stomach and almost too terrified to even enter the bathroom.

But Mark had said that he was strong; Mark had said that he could beat this; Mark had put his faith in him. And, though Jesse still fully intended to walk away from this life, the very least he could do was try and return a little of that faith. He would go into the bathroom and take a shower – and then he would go to the beach house looking at least halfway presentable.

It still took an incredible effort for him to take those few steps. Then he stalled again when his shaking fingers unbuttoned his shirt. None of his wounds had been particularly deep and any infection had never been given the chance to take hold. Therefore, there was no further need for any dressings.

The scars on his body looked like brands – brands that he was fated to wear forever as a reminder of his guilt. Mark had said that it was over – and he had tried hard to believe it – but how could it ever be over, when his own body was wearing those constant reminders?

* * *

For saying that a dinner party was imminent, the mood at the beach house bordered on sombre. There was unmistakable, though unsurprising, tension in the air and conversation was minimal. Everything necessary had already been said and there really was no point in indulging in small talk. It wouldn't ease the tension or calm the nerves – and silence more than suited the mood. It defined it.

Eyes flickered between the clock on the wall and the beach house door; watches were glanced at with far too much frequency; nervous looks even strayed towards the telephone, because none of them were entirely convinced that their guest of honour wouldn't yet cancel. And it was clear from each of their body language that they still harboured the apprehension he wouldn't show up at all.

When there was a sudden knock at the door, the tableau froze as each of them shared the same thought: Jesse didn't knock; he didn't need to knock – the beach house was a home from home for him. It spoke volumes about his mental state that he would feel the need to so announce his arrival.

Mark forced a smile onto his face and got to his feet. There was a look of mild warning in his eyes as he did so – and it simply instructed the others to stick to their script so that, somehow, they might all come out of this unscathed.

Steve exchanged a glance with Amanda, but no words were spoken – it had gone way beyond that now. Mark's voice floated up to them:

"Jesse, come on in. Dinner's almost ready."

Then the both of them appeared in the main room and the tension increased almost to breaking point.

"Wha… What's going on?" Jesse's eyes took on the look of a cornered animal. "What's he doing here?"

"He's here at my invitation, Jesse," Mark answered, calmly – and his were the only eyes that didn't turn towards a suddenly self-conscious Martin Samson.

* * *

Jesse could feel his entire body trembling. He wanted to run, but he was totally frozen in place. He couldn't explain exactly why he was so terrified. Martin had been a part of the case; he had helped and so he had every right to be invited to this little gathering.

But he also knew that if Mark's motives had been purely innocent – if he had intended this dinner to be some form of farewell – then it would have just been the four of them. If it had been meant as a grander send-off, then there would have been others – people from the hospital and even the precinct; neighbours and friends. Not just Martin.

It all reeked of an ulterior motive and the look that Jesse aimed at Mark was full of wounded betrayal. He knew he had no rights, no demands, but he never expected his mentor to so stab him in the back. Surely Mark would understand why he couldn't face the prospect of hypnosis again – of how the very notion utterly petrified him. He couldn't relinquish complete control, no matter what the circumstances. It had been forcibly taken from him and now he couldn't acquiesce to it voluntarily – not again.

Hadn't they already tried this, back at the hospital? His previous session with Martin might have given them some answers, but it hadn't provided a solution. What had changed to make anyone believe that they would be more successful this time?

"Mark…" Jesse wanted to protest, to put his feelings into words – but they stuck in his throat before dying on his lips. He had no right to make demands; no right to object to anything. He was the one who had sinned and Mark was only trying to make things better.

"Jesse, relax." It was Steve who spoke and Jesse's panicked eyes moved swiftly to settle on him.

'Relax' – that was the first step of hypnosis. Then came: 'clear your mind', 'listen to my voice', 'watch the coin'. Jesse felt his chest tighten and hyperventilation became his most immediate enemy. His head began to spin and he reached out blindly for something to help keep him upright.

His hand didn't connect with anything and he closed his eyes as he felt the world begin to tilt – but then stability found him. A firm hand grasped his upper arm and provided the anchor he needed.

There was another touch – this time, a strong hand across his shoulders; then came a reassuring pressure on the small of his back. After that a gentle hand gripped hold of his and finally, a feather-light touch caressed his cheek.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was his tight-knit circle of friends who had provided such total support – but he did so anyway. Somehow, he was now sitting down. Steve leant over him, Amanda knelt beside him and Mark crouched in front of him. He couldn't see Martin anywhere.

All he could see was the strength of their love and concern – and it pained him that they could still feel that way about him. It helped him make a decision and he bowed his head. When he next looked up, he made a tremendous effort to keep his tears in check.

"Okay," he said, with barely a tremor in his voice. "You can tell Martin I'm ready now."

TBC…


	41. Trance 41

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones that I created.

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode _"Delusions of Murder" _(spoilers). Also major references to _"Alienated"_ and minor ones to other eps.

**Author's note: Welcome to the final chapter of my fic. Thanks for your patience when the updates slowed down! I must admit that this thing took on a life of its own! I don't envisage ever attempting to write anything this long again, but you never know. I will promise that the next fic won't be posted until it is complete and that way I can guarantee more regular updates. Thanks to everyone who has continued to read and review – your comments have been wonderful and a constant source of inspiration. Till the next time… Helen**

TRANCE.

Part Forty-One.

"Tell Martin?" Steve sounded confused and then his eyes sought out his father's. "I thought we were going to wait until…"

A rapid shake of Mark's head warned Steve to shut up – and he did so without question. He was already uncomfortable enough with the whole situation and he didn't want to risk making things any worse.

"We don't need to tell Martin anything." Mark sounded nothing but pragmatic. "We never brought you here to be hypnotised again."

"Then why is..?" He looked around quickly, ensuring that Martin wasn't within earshot and might end up being offended by his words. "Why is he here?"

"Jesse, we have to make you understand." Mark began to explain. "If your mind wasn't so clouded by self-judgement, then I'm sure you would anyway. But, Jess, you just need to be shown that you had no choice in what you did. You had no control."

"I do know that…" Jesse tried to protest.

"In your head you do." Amanda was holding his hand and she moved her free hand to rest on his chest. "But you still don't really _believe_ it."

"Call it a demonstration, Jess." Steve afforded him a wry smile.

"You need to be reminded of exactly how completely control can be taken from a person," his father affirmed. "And this will just be hypnotism. You have to remember that drugs were used on you as well. This will just be a demonstration of how easily control can be wrested from you."

There must have been some kind of a signal – of which Jesse had been totally unaware – because Mark turned his head and Martin had suddenly appeared close by. Steve straightened up, heaving a hefty sigh – and Jesse knew exactly what was about to happen.

"You?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, me." Steve's voice and mannerisms both bespoke his trepidation, but then he pulled himself together. This was nothing compared to what his best friend had endured. "But you know what?" He attempted to inject some levity in the situation. "You let Martin make me do anything too outrageous, I've made both dad and Amanda promise to tell me."

In recognition of what Steve was doing for him, Jesse allowed himself a small smile. Then he was instantly serious. He could see how nervous this was making the man.

"You don't have to," he offered.

"Yes, Jesse, I do." They had talked at length about this – and it hadn't taken much to conclude that Steve had to be the one to undergo the hypnosis. Now he just had to define those reasons for Jesse. "You know me," he began. "You know that I'm strong minded, wilful, stubborn if you like." He smiled self-consciously. "And you know that I'm not always so hot at following orders."

"Steve…" Jesse hated what he was hearing and sought some way to put a stop to it all – but he was never given the chance.

"I don't want to sound like I'm insulting you, Jess. That's not what I'm doing here." Steve made and maintained eye contact to convey his sincerity. "But I've had a gun to my head and still not done what I've been told."

"But…" Another attempt to stop this only prompted another failure.

"Jesse, Martin is going to do this. He is going to take control of me using hypnosis." His steely gaze bore into the young doctor. "And if he can do that to me… I'm sorry, Jess, but what hope in hell did you have?"

Jesse simply stared at him. Steve was, quite possibly, the strongest man that he knew. He was _Steve Sloan_ – nothing more needed to be added. It wasn't just who he was, it was _what_ he was. He was the embodiment of strength and control – and he was about to give all of that up, just to prove a point.

Jesse knew hypnotism. He knew that it wasn't just about losing control. It was about giving up everything and becoming the puppet of whoever had wielded that power over you. It was dehumanising and went way beyond humiliating. And Steve was willingly sacrificing himself to that.

He would never get over it. He might shrug and laugh and pretend so that the whole world would believe. But Jesse would always know – he would know that there was a part of Steve that would be irrevocably changed forever.

The silence stretched on for too long and was totally misinterpreted. Steve nodded once and then turned to look at Martin.

"Ready when you are, doc," he said – successfully hiding the tremor in his voice. He trusted his dad and, by association, trusted Martin too. But he was terrified by the prospect of having no thought and no control over his own actions. Humiliation was already beginning to creep in at what he might be made to do – however innocuous his father would ensure it would be.

"We need to sit down; be somewhere more… comfortable." There was trepidation in Martin's voice, too – but his concerns were ethical as well as personal.

Jesse could only watch as Martin led Steve towards the dinner table. When Mark and Amanda joined the small procession, Jesse felt obliged to trail in their wake.

Steve sat down on one chair and Martin chose the seat directly opposite. The table had already been laid in anticipation of the meal that lay ahead, but cutlery was swiftly moved to one side. The hypnotist took out his coin:

"I want you to relax, Lieutenant Sloan. Let your eyes focus on the coin and your ears on my voice. That's all there is. Watch the coin and hear my voice. You are feeling relaxed…"

Steve didn't try to fight. It didn't matter that he was secretly terrified; terrified by willingly and yet somehow forcibly relinquishing control; terrified that he would have no control over his actions; terrified that it was only at the hypnotist's whim that he would even be allowed to remember.

It didn't matter, this was for Jesse – and this was the final end to his nightmare. He focussed his eyes on the coin and his mind on the voice.

"Stop!"

Jesse's voice brought an abrupt end to proceedings before they had even started and all eyes turned towards the young doctor.

"Stop…" Jesse's previous anguished cry was replaced by a low plea. "I don't want you to do this."

"Jess…" Mark tried to voice the argument as to _why_, but Jesse was past listening.

"I can't let you do this." Jesse's words were aimed at Steve, alone. "It… it changes you. Even a stupid Las Vegas act would change you – you know the 'cluck like a chicken' routine." He cast an apologetic glance towards Martin, whose profession he had just verbally reduced to some cheap sideshow.

"You can't stop me from doing this!" Steve reacted with an anger that manifested itself from fear. "Dammit, if this is what it's gonna take…"

"It's not." Jesse's chin dropped to his chest and his eyes closed. "It's not. I get it."

"Do you? Do you really?" Steve couldn't help his furious reaction – even though this was a long way removed from what they had so carefully rehearsed. "Because this isn't a bluff, Jesse. I'll do this and I'll give up all control…"

"But you still couldn't be told to kill." Jesse's retort came on a whisper.

"No, I couldn't." Steve's voice turned hard as he took the kid gloves off. "But why don't you find out exactly what I _could_ be told to do?"

"It doesn't…"

Steve never gave him the chance to finish – he had to maintain the momentum. "How about I get Amanda to give me that drug? She has it, you know. She has it with her right now and could inject me in a second." As he'd hoped she would, Amanda glanced away – and towards Mark's medical bag. It only added credence to the lie.

"No!" Jesse felt a terror rise within him, the likes of which he had never felt in his life before. Steve – his best friend – was offering to undergo the very same nightmare that he had endured. And, even though it was a controlled environment and things could be stopped before they went too far, it all might still go horribly wrong. "No you can't!"

"If this is what it takes…"

"No, it's not. Because you can't help yourself." Jesse tried to plead his case. "You can't stop. You can't do anything."

"Then let me show you that you're not weak." Steve had gone out on a limb with his adlibs, but the plan hadn't been working. He gave Jesse the final push: "Let me prove it to you."

"No!" The younger man's reaction was vehement. "It doesn't matter how much you love someone. It wouldn't be you. You'd try and kill him anyway …" Jesse trailed off as he suddenly understood with horrible clarity.

"I'd have no choice." Steve completed the thought that Jesse had left unsaid.

Realisation, along with true understanding, slammed into Jesse with astonishing force. He _knew_ now. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he hadn't called a halt to proceedings – if he had allowed Steve to be hypnotised and drugged – then the detective would have tried to murder his own father.

And he knew because that was what had happened to him. He was blameless, just as Steve would have been somehow blameless – though maybe blame could be apportioned for allowing such a ludicrous and potentially fatal plan to come to fruition.

But ultimately, it all came down to the same thing. Blame lay squarely on those who had hypnotised, drugged and otherwise terrorised him.

_He_ was blameless.

"You wouldn't have gone through with it." Somehow Jesse turned the statement into more of a question.

"If that was gonna be what it would take." Steve offered him a wry grin. "Apart from actually using Yoshimoto's drug, of course."

"You said it wasn't a bluff," Jesse protested, feeling mildly taken-in.

"The hypnosis part never was," his friend retorted. "Our plan was for me to be hypnotised – to make you see just how completely control can be taken from a person." He smiled again, this time to convey his relief. "You know, you missed out on an opportunity there. You could have told me to do anything."

"Like give up his pay-per-view PIN," Amanda interjected, trying to lighten the sombre mood a little, now that it seemed they had finally got through to their friend.

"Or add you to the insurance to drive his truck." Mark tried to get in on the act, but his own mischievous tone was forced, as he knew that it couldn't last. Jesse's next words proved him right on that count:

"Or make him so totally humiliate himself that he might never get over it," he whispered.

"Doctor Travis, I understand that you're feeling humiliated." Martin spoke up then and it seemed as though he had surprised himself by doing so. "I also understand that you feel like you might never get over it. But you can. You will."

"Martin's right." Mark smiled, sympathetically. "You will get over it, with some help. It's called hypno_therapy_ for a reason."

"I can't…" Fear flared again. "I can't be put under again."

"I wouldn't even consider it." Martin was more sure of himself now – this was his area of expertise and his moral grounds had been firmly re-established. "It might help you to just talk, to understand, to know exactly what my work entails. Yes, it can be a Vegas sideshow." A kind smile took the sting out of his words. "But it can also be a genuine form of help to people – when used correctly and ethically."

Jesse nodded – still feeling massively overwhelmed. The realisation that he was not to blame had hit him like a ton of bricks and he still hadn't quite reconciled to the fact. He felt as though he wasn't being given the chance to catch his breath.

Mark, of course, sensed this.

"You don't have to make any decisions now, Jess," he said, trying to take some of the pressure off his former protégé. "Just take some time to think about it."

An awkward silence followed and Jesse was the one who felt obliged to break it.

"I guess…" he began, sounding horribly unsure of himself. "I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to… you know, stick around… while I do that…"

"Jesse I promised you that, if you came here tonight, then no pressure would be put on you to stay." Mark spoke with utmost sincerity. "So how about we all have dinner and then we'll take it from there."

"Mark…" Jesse tried to protest. Everything still felt so unfinished and he didn't want to leave his friends hanging like this.

"Dinner, Jesse." Mark was insistent. "I've gone to a lot of trouble and if I leave it much longer it will be ruined."

* * *

Martin didn't stay for dinner. His excuses were valid, but everybody recognised them to be exactly that: excuses. Nobody tried too hard to convince him to stay.

It wasn't that they had anything against the hypnotherapist – in fact, he had been an invaluable help – but the meal had taken on a certain poignancy. It was either going to be the last time they all sat down like this, or it was going to be the first step towards getting back to their lives. And, no matter how much he might have helped, Martin was never going to be a part of that. In fact, there were only four people on the planet who belonged around that table – and they were the only ones present.

The food was predictably fantastic, but the conversation was stilted. As the evening wore on, it became almost non-existent. Then the entire atmosphere descended into uncomfortable.

Jesse felt solely responsible, but he didn't know how to make it right. He was just waiting for the moment when he could make his excuses – and his escape, even if he still had no idea of where he was going to escape to. But nobody was going to give him an opening to do that.

"Hey Jess, I've been thinking about people having no control over their actions." Steve suddenly said, in an attempt to spark some form of conversation. He conveniently ignored the warning looks that were aimed in his direction. "I once knew of this cop who went so deep undercover, he got caught in an explosion and when he came to, he honestly believed that he was actually his undercover persona – he completely forgot about his real life of being a cop."

Jesse stopped eating – a feat in itself – and Mark and Amanda exchanged worried glances. His brow furrowed and the look he aimed at Steve was one of utter incredulity. A semblance of a smile formed on his lips.

"Steve," he said, his bewilderment – and amusement – apparent in his voice. "That was a plot-line from _Miami Vice_. That happened to Sonny Crockett."

"Hey, I just said I knew _of _a cop." Steve protested – his hands held up in mock surrender at having been found out. "I never said it was a _real_ cop."

It was a release and laughter erupted around the table. It was almost like old times. Then Jesse sobered and there was a look in his eye that said he had something serious to say.

"I might… I might need a sabbatical, some time away." He lowered his eyes, not wanting to see any disappointment he might have caused. He had done nothing but think, but had still not found a real answer. "I need to…" He looked up again, seeking – and finding, for the most part – sympathy and understanding. Steve wasn't looking at him at all. "You know…" he tried to elaborate.

"Take as long as you need." Mark readily agreed and he knew that he could easily take care of the administrative details. "Just, please, keep in touch."

"Whoa… whoa, what the hell?" Steve's head snapped around at that. He had thought they had made some progress and he wasn't prepared to let go of it so easily.

"Steve." Just saying his name was a warning from his father.

"No dad." Though he addressed his father, his eyes never strayed from Jesse's face. "He needs to get this. It's over, or it's not over." He focus intensified and he leant in closer to his friend. "Which one is it?"

"Miami Vice." Jesse spoke on an exhalation and shook his head as he did so. "I can't believe you threw that at me."

"Hey, I…" Steve trailed off as he wondered what the hell he'd been thinking. "I just thought it might help."

"And I can't believe you thought that I wouldn't catch on!" Jesse sounded almost indignant. "You really thought I'd take that as a real story?"

"No, I knew you _would _catch on, Jess." Steve was close enough to grasp his shoulder. "I knew you'd figure it out. And I guess I was hoping you'd remember how the rest of it played out."

"Crockett…" Jesse tried to answer, wondering what the hell eighties TV had to do with anything.

"His friends rallied around and he came out of the other side." Somehow, Steve wasn't talking about the TV show any more. "He went back to being who he really was," Steve continued. He took a deep breath and ignored more warning looks that were aimed his way. He had only one more thing to add: "Say you'll stay."

Pressure fell away from Jesse and he almost laughed – but laughter would have been inappropriate in the face of what Steve was trying to do. Only his best friend could have got through to him in such a way. He felt as normal as he had in a long time.

"I'll stay." The answer came easily, because he found that he had already made the decision, even if it was only at some purely emotional level. He shrugged and tried a laugh. "You care enough to throw Crockett at me…"

"Jesse, never underestimate your friends."

If he had been bound under oath then Jesse wouldn't have been able to say who had spoken those words. It was as though he felt them in his heart, rather than heard them through his ears.

He smiled, tentatively at first. Then he met the eyes of each of his friends and the smile transcended into a full blown grin.

He was staying.

What might happen afterwards was a whole different story – but now he had taken that first step. He had re-established his place in life and had opened his heart to accepting the help and support of his friends.

He still had to find a way to get past the nightmares and the memories and that would be a Herculean task.

Though he recognised and even understood both Reed and Yoshimoto's motives, Richard Liddell was a completely different matter. That man still possessed the ability to terrify him – whether he was behind bars or not. And it wasn't purely through what had happened to him so recently. His terror of the man dragged him all the way back to Utah.

He wondered if he should mention it and then decided that he couldn't. As far as everyone else was concerned, it was over. As far as _he_ was concerned, it was as over as it ever could be.

Liddell was in jail and it wouldn't achieve anything to try and dig up their previous history.

He tried on another smile – and, this time, it felt mostly genuine. His friends had stood by him. They had each gone out on a limb for him. His own ghosts were for him to deal with him.

Each of his friends had raised their glasses and Jesse followed suit. It was Amanda who voiced the toast:

"To the future."

"The future," Jesse echoed – and he tried hard to believe in it.

THE END


End file.
